I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, i 



\iu Chap. 

I . Shelf ■....:^..^.d' 

UNITED SJATES OF AMERICA. 



If 



THE TALISMAN 



OTHER POEMS 






DJI' C. RICHMAN 





MUSCATINE IOWA 

PUBLISHED BY DEMOKEST & COE 



i86- 



^ 



IV CONTENTS, 

Lines on hearing "Are we amiost There?" 78 

The Consumptive 80 

Nay, Tell me Not 82 

A Thought of Hobie 84 

One of Life's Bright Hours 87 

A Similie 90 

Origin of the Dew-Drop 92 

We will lay Her to sleep 94 

Musings 96 

A Memory 98 

Lines to S. and M 100 

To Rev. A. B. Robbins 103 

Grand Military Review 107 

The Dead Sea 117 

The Beautiful are never Desolate 119 

To MY Wife 123 

Lady, I Come 127 

The Nyctanthes 129 

Boyhood Years 131 

Iowa 133 

The Tableau 151 



INVO CA TI ON, 



With no fond, sickly thirst for fame I kneel, 

goddess of the high-born art, to thee; 
Not unto thee with semblance of a zeal 
i come, o pure and heaven -eyed poesy ! 
Thou art to me a spirit and a love. 

Felt ever from the time when first the earth. 
In its green beauty, and the sky above 
Informed my soul with joy too deep for mirth. 

1 was a CHILD OF THINE BEFORE MY TONGUE 

Could lisp its infant utterance unto thee. 

And now, ALBEIT, FROM MY HARP ARE FLUNG 

Discordant numbers, and the song may be 
That which I would not, yet I know that thou 
The offering will not spurn, while unto thee i bow. 

Mrs. E. Oakes Smith. 



DEDICA TION. 

TO MY MOTHER, 

THE GUIDE AND COUNSELOR OF MY YOUTH; 

WHOSE LOVING FAITHFULNESS 

NO WORDS CAN EXPRESS; 

TO MY WIFE, 

DEVOTED, EARNEST AND TRUE — 
THE CROWN OF MY DAYS; 



TO MY ONLY SON, 

THE JOY AND PRIDE OF MY LIFE; 
THIS VOLUME IS MOST AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 



NOTES. 



The Talisman. Page IH. 

The central idea upon which this poem turns, and tlie closing 
portion in prose, were taken from an old romance, published 
many years ago in an Annual called The Memorial. 
The couplet on page 23 — 

Ere madness fill my tortured brain, 
And I with grief go wild again — 

Is borroM'ed from Moore's Lalla Rookh — 

"Thy tortured brain 

Would burn like mine, and mine go wild again." 

The Appeal. Page 42. 

A young lady of great worth was engaged to be married to 
an intimate friend of mine, who died of consumption before 
the marriage contract was consummated. She survived him but 
a few years, and died of the same disease. Reference is made 
to him in " The Consumptive," page 80. His name was Charles 
Bunting Pearce, of Crosswicks, New Jersey. 

Origin of the Dew - Drop. Page 92. 

This piece was written in reply to a poetical article com- 
mencing— 

"Beautiful drop, with thy gem -lit eye, 
Where do thy primitive regions lie ? '" 

Iowa. Page 133. 

"Iowa! Iowa! this is the place." 

A tribe of Sac and Fox Indians, wandering in search of a 
home, crossed the Mississippi River at Rock Island. Finding a 
place which they admired, and being satisfied with its appear- 
ance, they exclaimed: "Iowa! Iowa! this is the place." — Le 
Claire. 

The Nyctanihes. Page 129. 

The sorrowful Nyctanthes begins to spread its rich odors after 
sunset. — Moore. 



THE MUSIC OF THE SEA. 

'Tis said that, at certain seasons, beautiful sounds are heard 
from the Ocean . 

MAYOR'S VOYAGES. 

HARK! from the depths of yonder sea, 
A strain of music soft and low, 
Is borne upon the ambient air 
In echoes solemn, sad and slow. 

Whence comes it? from the cavern's deep 
Beneath old Ocean's briny spray? 

From some soft harp that vibrates sweet 
When syren fingers o'er it play? 

From some weird lyre of pensive tone, 

By fairy fingers swept along? 
Or some wild sea-maid, sad and lone, 

Dissolvino' anguish into song? 



10 MUSIC OF THE SEA, 

' Tis passing strange ; yet, oft at night, 
When other eyes were closed in sleep, 

I've listened to that mournful strain 
Of solemn music from the deep; 

And wondered if within the sea 
There dwells a race mysterious, fair. 

Whose plaintive songs are wafted oft. 
In beauty on the midnight air; 

And who at last, on angel wings, 
Shall rise from out their coral home 

And join the song whose echoes cleave 
The air of heaven's eternal dome. 




THE CHARITY SERMON. 

^ry^WAS sabbath eve; I sat within 

--L A gorgeous church, and listened to the man 
Of God, as, warm and fervid from his lips 
There fell impassioned words, and eloquent 
Appeals, that oft would cause a quivering tear 
To start from many an eye, and many a breast 
Would heave, as if in tender sympathy. 
His subject was the poor — the suff'ring poor; 
"Blessed is he that considereth the poor," 
The preacher said; and then in earnest tones 
Went on to picture gay and glit'ring Wealth, 
And squalid Want, and Wretchedness, and Woe. 
And then the contrast ! Oh ! 'twas touching, warm 
And beautiful, and drew from many an eye 
A sympathetic tear. 

As the preacher talked, I mused and pondered: 
The poor^ thought I, and have they any poor 
Within the limits of a town that builds 



12 THE CHARITY SERMON, 

Such palaces as this, where the poor man 
Ne'er would dare to enter, lest he might soil 
These crimson -cushioned seats and covered aisles. 
With rough and coarse attire? The poor, methinks. 
Would start affrighted back, whene'er they caught 
The reflex of this stained and gilded glass, 
Through wiiich rays of "dim, religious light" 

scarce 
Can penetrate: that pealing organ, with 
Its costly trappings, and those choral songs 
From hireling throats, would cause the shiv'ring 

poor 
To pause in w^onder and in sore amaze: 
And as they turn away, methinks I hear 
Them say: "This is some kingly palace, where 
The great and noble keep their august court, 
And where the rich and beautiful do hold 
Their nightly festival, while music soft 
A dreamy languor sheds o'er all the scene. 
It can not, nay, it can not be that they 
Are friends of Him. who had not where to lay 
His tired and aching head, and who expired 
On Calvary's rugged hight for erring man, 
And loved the humble poor — oh! no." 



THE CHARITY SEB3fON, 13 

Once more: "The poor— the sick — the shiv'ring 
poor," 
The preacher said, "Oh, visit, comfort them;" 
And as he raised his arm aloft, as if 
To give more force and unction to his words, 
The costly gold around his neck did gleam 
And glitter in the softened light, while from 
His eye there rolled a liquid drop, which he 
To Pity ga\e, — "'twas all he had — a tear.'.' 

Again I mused: "Why have we any poor? 
And why must they in want and hunger live. 
When here within these massive, towering walls, 
Is spread with lavish hand enough of wealth 
And rich array to comfort many a sick 
And bleeding heart?" 

Why not bestow these gifts 
So costly, on the suff'ring poor? Methinks 
An humbler fane might here be reared, in which 
To worship God, and preach the gospel -word 
Of the "meek and lowly Jesus!" 
The sermon closed; and as I slow retired 
Amid the rich and gaudy throng, these words 
Still lingered in my heart with sad'ning sound — 
"Jesus and the poor." 



FAIR LADY, TOUCH THY LUTE AGAIN. 

FAIR lady, touch thy lute again 
To that dear, soft, familiar strain, 
I loved so long ago; 
It startles from sad Mem'ry's fane 
Sweet echoes of those chords again, 
Half drowned in notes of woe! 

It weakens visions of the Past, 
By intervening years o'ercast, 

And starts the trembling tears ! 
A voice comes up within my soul. 
And sways me with a soft control: 

The voice of buried years. 

It brings the luster to that eye 

I saw grow^ dim, when Death was nigh, 

And Hope's bright beam had fled. 
It wreathes again the angel smile. 
That played on those dear lips the while — 

Now^ mould 'ring with the dead. 



TOUCH THY LUTE AGAIN. 15 

Bat cease: I can not bear those sounds! 
They bruise anew my healing wounds, 

And start the latent sigh. 
They bring dark mem'ries of a shroud, 
A sable pall — a fun'ral crowd, 

And tear-drops to my eye. 

Then, lady, cease thy sad'ning song: 
And let the chords be swept along 

To some wild, unknown air ; 
For oh ! I can not bear the spell, 
Thy lute's soft touch hath woven well,— 

Nay, nay ! in pity spare ! 




THE TALISMAN. 

READ BEFORK THE LITERARY ASSOCIATION OF MUSCATINE. 

SOFTLY the length 'ning shadows fell, 
O'er forest, field, and lonely dell, — 
With whisp'ring voice the evening breeze 
Rustled 'mong the summer trees; 
Far in the west the setting sun, 
His daily pathway almost run. 
Sinks 'neath a gorgeous, golden haze. 
While round his disc in beauty plays 
A dazzling beam of liquid light, — 
And clouds with crimson fringes bright 
Fill up the back -ground of the scene; 
Far o'er the earth the glit'ring sheen 
Is gilding tree -top, shrub and flower 
In aureate beauty, while the hour 
Of twilight, silently creeps on, 
T' usurp the day -god's golden throne. 



THE TALISMAN. 17 

All, all is hushed, save in that room, 
Where 'mid the slowly darkling gloom 
The dying lay; — the labored breath 
Came difficult and slow; — pale Death 
In waiting for his victim stood, — 
And with his wand congealed the blood 
Which torpid, through each sluggish vein 
Pursued its path from heart to brain. 

"My son," — the father softly said, 
And placed his hand upon his head — 
"My earthly course is almost run; 
With me, as with yon setting sun, 
The day is passing; shadows dark 
Envelope life's frail shattered barque, 
Just launching in the murky tide 
Of Death's dark river, spreading wide 
Before me; — yet no gloomy fears 
Assail my heart; no sad-ning tears 
Distress, and call me back to earth ; — 
For in that land of holier birth 
To which I go, are fadeless joys, 
Unmixed with griefs or sad alloys; — 
And pleasures bloom perennial there, 
Untainted by a doubt or care. 



18 THE TALISMAN. 

Come nearer, boy," — the father said, 

And gently drew him to the bed; — 

"When I have left the shores of Time, 

And Life's enchantments all sublime 

Are spread before thee, —then, my son, 

I'd have thee often look upon 

The talisman graved on this toy 

My father gave me, when a boy:" 

Thus speaking he with trembling hand 

Threw o'er his neck a silver band. 

Or chain, from which depending hung, 

A golden tablet which had clung 

Thereto for many lengthened years — 

Was sanctified by hopes and fears 

Which lived within that father's breast, 

All through his toilsome life's unrest. 

Upon that tablet there was graved 

One only word, — whose power had saved 

That father many a bitter pang. 

When through his soul's deep chambers rang 

Temptation's music — Folly's song — 

To lure him in the path of wrong ; — 

And now in dying, this bequest 

He gave his boy — the noblest, best, 

In joy or sorrow, peace or strife, 

To sanctify his earthly life. 



THE TALISMAN, 19 

The old man died, — and filial hands 
Obeyed the parent's last commands; 
Closed the sunk eye with tender care — 
Composed the limbs — then bowed in prayer 
T ' invoke the orphan's God to bless 
The fatherless, in his distress. 

And now amid the busy strife 
That throngs the avenues of life. 
Our orphan plunges wild and free. 
Resolved the brilliant world to see. 
The hue of health is on his cheek, 
The fire of youth is in his eye. 
Excitement lures him on to seek 
The joys that in his pathway lie; 
His earnest heart beats proud and high, 
His bosom breathes no sad'ning sigh. 
And Hope's bright ensign gaily plays 
In splendor o'er the passing days. 
The tablet round his neck is hung 
To shield his soul from harm and wrong; 
Its magic word is o'er his heart 
To ward Temptation's subtle dart; 
And forth he goes — that father's son, 
.To fight Life's battles all alone! 



20 THE TALISMAN, 

Companions gay and light of heart 

Are met within the busy mart 

Of human life, and hand -in -hand, 

A pleasure -loving, seeking band. 

They quaff with zest the flowing bowl, 

Till. Reason's calm and sure control 

Is lost in wild excitement's charm. 

At length with passions stirred and warm, 

Disputes arise, — dark words are given,— 

And then, alas ! O, pitying heaven ! 

Our orphan's arm is raised in fight ; 

When, glit'ring in the evening light. 

The tablet on his breast is seen ! 

A thrill of anguish, sharp and keen. 

Pervades his frame; Conscience recalled 

The sacred past ; with heart appalled, 

The talismanic w^ord he spoke; 

And then, as though the spell were broke 

Which maddened him, with quiet tread 

He went to muse upon the dead. 

Tears — bitter tears — his pillow wet; 

In vain his heart strove to forget — 

In vain his eyelids did he close 

To seek oblivion of his woes; 

His father's image near him stood, 



THE TALISMAN. 21 

And terror seemed to chill his blood, 
As forth was stretched a bony hand 
Which pointed to the silver band 
And tablet— while a low, sad tone, 
Reproached him that so soon he'd gone 
From Virtue's path, and giv'n his soul 
To Passion's dark and mad control. 

Again Temptation's luring power 
Ensnared him in an evil hour; 
Within a palace underground, 
Where voices rang with hollow sound. 
Mid glare of lights, and rich array. 
Our orphan sat engaged in play ; 
The stakes ran high — excitement beamed 
On every face, — Azs dark eye gleamed, 
As heaps of gold were swept away. 
Which he in heavy wagers lay 
Upon the game; at length his purse 
Was emptied with a muttered curse, 
And lost; and then with quiv'ring grasp, 
He sought to loose the golden clasp 
W^hich bound the tablet to his heart, 
When, pierced as by some fiery dart, 
He wildly sprang, and left the scene: — 



22 THE TALISMAN. 

The moonlight's pale and silvery beam 
Fell on his brow; with troubled soul, 
And frenzied grief that spurned control, 
He wandered on in dark despair ; 
While on the quiet evening air 
The talismanic word was borne, 
Like plaintive music sad and lorn. 

Next, in a brilliant, gay saloon 
With lamps as bright as summer noon, 
Midst cyprian maids he danced and sang. 
While mirth and laughter loudly rang 
Throughout the hall ; soft dreamy eyes 
Were fixed on his, — while languid sighs 
Inspired a dark, unholy flame. 
To lead him on to sin and shame. 
Fair lips the sparkling wine -cup pressed, 
While airy forms in splendor dressed. 
The orphan pledged, with brimming glass. 
And then with reeling brain, alas ! 
Joined in the laugh, the song, the jest. 
As though upon his throbbing breast 
The talisman no longer hung 
To guard his soul from sin and wrong: 
But, hark ! a word by some one spoken 



THE TALISMAN. 23 

In thoughtlessness amid that crowd 
Fell on his ear : " My vow is broken ! " 
He murmured in a voice not loud, 
Yet filled with bitterness and woe : 
"Forth from this presence let me go, 
Ere madness fill my tortured brain 

And I with grief, go wild again!" 

« 

Once more the orphan meets our sight; 
Misfortune's hand with chilling blight" 
Is laid upon him ; — he hath lost 
The fortune that was once his boast, 
And now a wreck on Life's wide sea. 
Without a friend to cheer him, he 
Floats carelessly upon the tide : 
A loving wife is by his side 
Who blest him in his hours of ease. 
And now in misery's darkest hour, 
When adverse clouds upon him lower. 
True to her vows, in good or ill, 
Clings to his heart, and loves him still : 
And when he gazed upon that face 
Of pictured beauty and sweet grace — 
And thought of all the wond'rous love 
That naught on earth could shake or move. 



24 THE TALIS3IAN. 

AVhich dwelt within that bosom fair, 
When light and free as summer air, — 
And still clung to him when the light 
Of fortune's sun sunk in dark night; 
He bowed his head in grief and pain, 
And tear-drops fell like summer rain. 

A darker phase is now revealed 
Within that heart, alas! congealed 
By penury, and want and woe ; 
Sternly he deemed the world his foe, 
And mused in gloom throughout the night 
On deeds that feared the day's pure light. 
Alone within his silent room, — 
A taper lighting up the gloom 
With dim and flickering ray, — he dreams 
O'er all the past, while sadly beams 
The eye that erst with kindling light 
Saw naught on earth that was not bright. 
He takes a pen,— he writes a name. 
And gazes on it, while with shame 
A tingling blush mounts on his brow! 
God help the friendless orphan now ! 
' Tis forgery ! — but hold ! — again 
He writes! it is the talisman 



THE TALISMAN. 25 

His pen has traced! as though his hand 
Were guided from the spirit -land 
By angels, who had left their sphere 
To shield and guard the orphan here: 
He gazed a moment on the word — 
Breathed a low prayer the angels heard, 
And bore in pity to the throne 
Of God; then Consciousness was gone! 
Alas, poor boy ! down the dark steep 
Of Crime, another headlong leap 
He takes; — a father's dying prayer — 
A mother's love, — in wild despair 
Forgotten — buried in the past — 
His sky with darkling clouds o'ercast — 
And every hope of love and heaven 
In the wild tempest lost and riven ; 
He takes the glit'ring steel, to spill 
Life - blood for gold ! — by stealth to kill 
His fellow -man, as though the Eye 
That never sleeps, the crimson dye 
Should not behold, and mark the crime 
From His high throne of light sublime. 
His purpose formed, he wends his way 
In silent darkness; not a ray 



26 THE TALISMAN. 

Lights lip the midnight gloom to tell 

The sleeper Death is near ; no bell 

Strikes the alarm — no pitying eye 

Save God's, looks on the dreadful scene ; 

No arm but His to intervene 

And save two mortals, — one from death, 

The other from himself : — a breath — 

A word — might rouse the one, and change 

The purpose of the other ; — strange 

It comes not, while the lifted steel 

Will soon descend, and darkly seal 

The fate of both ! The victim dreams 

And muses in his sleep; he seems 

About to speak ! he does — a word, 

Whispered faintly ; yet as if stirred 

By some unseen, supernal power 

That brooded o'er that midnight hour. 

The orphan heard the sound — then fled 

In haste away ; — on — on he sped. 

Nor paused in his wild flight till day's 

Soft dawning, and the orient rays 

Of morning found him faint and pale, 

Wooing the soft, refreshing gale. 

O wondrous, magic power concealed 



THE TALISMAN, 27 

Within a word, whose name revealed 
The right and pure, forbade the wrong, 
And stilled the Tempter's syren song — 
Which like some weird magician's wand 
Extended by an unseen hand, 
Wooes at its will, with magic rare, 
The object of its tender care! 

Humbled by the chastening rod, 
Inflicted oft by Mercy's God, 
To loftier aims the orphan turned 
His thoughts, — and oft his bosom burned 
With holier purposes toward man. 
His father's mystic talisman 
Was deeply graven on his heart, — 
And when in acting out his part 
In Life's great drama, he was met 
By boon companions ready yet 
To lure him to their haunts of sin 
Where oft in other days he'd been. 
The magic word, like holy prayer, 
Was on his lips, and banished far 
The Tempter's once controlling power. 
In Wisdom's ways each passing hour 



28 THE TALISMAN. 

He humbly walked, and sought for praise, 
For riches, honor, length of days, 
In simply doing good; and peace. 
Prosperity, and comfort, ease, 
And all the blessings earth affords, 
Were his, with kind and gentle words 
To cheer him in his life's decline, 
And cause the light of love to shine 
Upon him, as with faith and trust 
His body mingled with the dust. 
And spirit left its home of clay 
To dwell in realms of endless day. 

And now, this mystic talisman, 
Which proved the orphan's endless gain — 
Which checked him in his downward course 
To infamy, and waked remorse 
For all his evil deeds, and saved 
A soul from death, should be engraved 
On every heart; — like him whene'er 
Temptation whispers in thine ear 
To leave the straight and narrow path ; — 
'T will save thee from the wasting wrath 
That clings to sin, and make thy breast 



THE TALISMAN, 29 

Th' abode of purity and rest: — 

Cling to this talisman, and though 

From sland'rous lips the venom flow — 

Though friends distrust, and though the blast 

Of calumny, be sent broad -cast 

To crush thee in the very dust — 

Though envy, malice, baleful lust, 

In fearful storm burst o'er thy head — 

Though brimming wine -cups, bright and red, 

Be offered thee — though cyprians woo 

With lecherous gaze, and gamesters too. 

Entice thee to their haunts of sin, 

Thy gold—?in(i worse, thy soul to win — 

Though Crime its hydra -head should* rear. 

And quell within thee every fear 

Of retribution ! — though Distress 

And Want, and Poverty, oppress: — 

Still bind this word upon thy heart, 

Nor let its presence e'er depart ; 

'T will cheer thee in thy darkest hour. 

And bless thee with its magic power. 

And when thy barque meets prosperous gales, 

And breezy hope inflates the sails. 

And thou upon the crested wave 



THE TALISMAN. 

Dost ride triumphantly, 't will save 

Thee many a dark regret, if thou 

In humble trust wilt lowly bow 

And breathe that word in whispered tone 

Into thy Father's ear alone : 

This talisman, so pure and good, 

Close by the suff 'ring Saviour stood 

When He in sad Gethsemane 

Gave up his life for you and me; — 

Sustained him in the dying hour 

By more than falt'ring human power; 

Was with Him when from Death's deep gloom 

He rent the vail, and left the tomb; 

Was ivith Him in His upward flight, 

When passing far from mortal sight, 

And fell like dew to earth again, 

To bless a race of sinful men. 

This precious gift, first born in heaven, 

Best boon to erring mortals given, 

Will bless the rich, the lowly poor — 

Will open wide soft Mercy's door, 

And usher in pure Sympathy, 

Faith, Hope, and God -like Charity, 

With all the virtues in their train. 



THE TALISMAN, 81 

To soothe and bless the soul of man. 
'T will teach us that our God is love, 
And that in Him we live, and move. 
And have our being ; that His plan 
Reveals the brotherhood of man — 
His o;\vn blest Fatherhood o'er all, 
Who people this terrestrial ball: 
Without this wondrous talisman 
Our purest thoughts and deeds to scan, 
Virtue is naught, — our life a shame, ^- 
Religion but a sounding name 
To bolster creeds and win applause 
For zeal in an unholy cause : — 
The confidence of man in man, 
Without this magic talisman. 
Could not exist; all nations own 
Its potent power ; by it alone 
Hold fellowship and intercourse. 
Without it, contracts lose their force, — 
The wheels of trade refuse to run, — 
The social fabric's ail undone; 
And friendship, virtue, faith, and love, 
Are worse than sin, unless it move 
Their secret springs. The gentle maid. 



32 THE TALISMAN, 

By lover wooed in evening shade 
With burning words and tender vows, 
Would soon her keen resentment rouse, 
And with indignant scorn repel 
Those tender vows, unless she well 
And truly knew that, in his breast, . 
Her lover kept this mystic guest. 
At Hymen's altar few would stand 
To weave with words the silken band 
Thenceforth to bind their souls — ay, worse 
Than mockery, — a solemn curse 
Would be the benison invoked 
On hearts for life together yoked. 
Unless this talisman should bind 
The union with its power refined 
And pure, as dreams of yon fair land 
Where, 'mong the bright, angelic band. 
The purified of earth do meet 
To walk the city's golden street. 
Without it, parents, it were best 
Your children in their graves at rest 
Were sleeping out the night of death ; 
And better still, had ne'er the breath 
Of earthly life their bosoms heaved. 



THE TALISMAN. 33 

Nor they the human form received; 
Oh, then, when first the lisping prayer 
Is taught, and you with fondest care 
Yearn o'er these buds of hope — oh, then 
Be sure this mystic talisman 
Is gently bound with Love's soft chain 
Upon their hearts, — 't will save them pain 
And grief in after years, and stay 
Their steps from every evil way. 

Young man, just entering on the verge 
Of stirring life — when passions surge 
Most boisterously — when skies are bright ; 
When hearts are joyous, gay, and light; 
And youthful dreams are fresh and warm; 
When gay companions nightly meet 
In Vice's curtained, dark retreat 
To quaff the poisoned bowl, and play 
At games of chance, that strangely sway 
The passions, and excite the brain; 
When deeds and words that darkly stain 
Are done and spoken, and the prize 
Is, favor in a cyprian's eyes; 
When Honor's path seems tame and cold, 



34 THE TALISMAN. 

And Vice, with mein unblushing, bold, 
Allures, with look of dazzling charm ; 
Oh, then to keep thy soul from harm, 
Choose thou this talisman, — ay, choose 
It, though you thence forever lose 
Position, power, wealth and fame. 
And laurels to adorn your name; 
For oh, without it, wealth and power 
Are treasures of a fleeting hour. 
And " Fame's wild visions " pass away 
As fades the glim'ring light of day. 

Young lady, though thine eye be bright 
Though ringlets shaming ebon Night 
Part o'er thy parian brow: though grace 
And beauty blend upon thy face ; 
And though thy voice, like music's strain 
Heard o'er some dim, enchanted plain. 
Be dreamy, soft and low : and though 
Upon thy cheek the roseate glow 
Of health plays changefully — j^et, 
AVithout this magic amulet 
To guard and keep thy life from harm, 
Thy graces lose their holiest charm, 



THE TALISMAN. 85 

And thou art but a thing of shame — 

Unworthy of a woman's name. 

Whilst with it — though proud beauty's power, 

And queenly grace be not thy dower — 

Thou art the fairest flower that blooms 

Amid the changing lights and glooms 

Of mortal life, — a talisman 

Thyself^ to wild and reckless man. 

And oh, when falls the mourner's tear, 

And hearts are wrung with doubt and fear ; 

When drops of grief are softly shed 

Upon the loved, the lost, the dead, 

Heposing in the lonely tomb ; 

Oh, darker than Egyptian gloom. 

The prospect, if ihis talisman 

Be not our hope, to soothe the pain, 

The grief of parting, when our dead 

Are laid within their narrow bed, 

To bid us look beyond — to rend 

The veil which hides the friend 

Now gone before, and with Faith's eye 

Behold the land where none shall die ! 

Oh, then, let each this talisman 

Seek out, nor let us seek in vain; 



36 THE TALISMAN, 

'T is free as air; the high, the low, 

The rich, the poor — ay, all may know 

The name and nature of this charm 

Which wooes and wins the soul from harm; 

'T was meant for all; the gift sublime 

Was sent to earth the morn of Time; 

It bloomed in Eden mid the flowers 

That blest creation's earliest hours; 

With prophet - bards it lingered long. 

Always the burden of their song; 

The shepherds saw it in the star 

Which brought their footsteps from afar. 

The infant Nazarene to greet, 

And lay their treasures at his feet ; 

Apostles preached it, martyrs bled 

That it throughout the earth might spread ; 

Down the dim aisles of hoary Time 

Its music rings in chant sublime; 

In Revelation's holy light 

It softly beams with splendor bright; 

Far in the wilds, with winning voice, 

It tells the heathen to rejoice ; 

Its shining track on History's page 

Is trod by student and by sage; 



THE TALISMAN. 37 

It tunes the poet's loftiest strains, 

And lingers in the soft refrains 

Of bards, who sing the want and woe 

Of wretched millions here below ; 

It strikes the fetters from the slave — 

And those in sad Oppression's grave, 

Reanimates, with life and hope ; 

'T is mightier far than King or Pope, 

And oft the despot on his throne 

Is made its majesty to own ; 

It prophesies a time of Peace, 

When dark, unholy War shall cease, 

And Love shall reign supreme, above 

All passions that our beings move — 

When man's last enemy, grim Death, 

Shall yield to Christ his passing breath, 

And the dark mist shall float away 

Which shuts us from resplendent day 

Where fadeless glory lights the hours. 

And bloom the amaranthine flowers: 

Ay, it alone shall solve at last 

The mysteries of ages past — 

Of sentient life — of whence we are, 



38 THE TALISMAN. 

And whither go when Death shall bar 

The vague, uncertain lease of Time — 

And we, on wings of faith sublime 

Shall plume our flight toward "that bourne 

From whence no travelers return." 

Yes — when shall pass our fleeting breath. 

And comes the mystery, of Death, 

And we, in fresh, immortal bloom, 

Shall rise from out the silent tomb, 

This talisman, like that pure light 

That beamed upon the Marys' sight 

When at the Saviour's tomb, shall shine 

Upon our souls with rays divine. 

And we in wonder shall adore 

The Source and Giver evermore. 

Now ye who would this mystery see — 

To all our muse has sung, the key — 

And learn the wondrous talisman 

So fraught with benefit to man. 

List ye the words of Yemen's sage. 

The words of wisdom and of age. 

Bestowed upon the youth Banad, 

Who long and fruitless search had made 



THE TALISMAN, 39 

For some mysterious, subtle charm, 
To shield his earthly life from harm. 

*' Father," said the young man, " the words of age, of the Sage 
of Yemen, are doubtless the words of wisdom; yet I would there 
were some talisman, which would shield us from enemies whom 
the strong arm may not approach." 

" My son, such an one there is." 

*' Can you obtain it tor me, father?" 

"No; yet you may win it for yourself." 

"Tell me where, father? My sword shall toe a stranger to its 
scabbard till I have obtained it: though it be single-handed 
among the children of Aws." 

" My son, not with sword or spear, or in earthly warfare, is this 
glorious jewel won. From the deep well-springs of a pure heart 
it must proceed; — in the quiet serenity of an unsullied con- 
science, whence shield and buckler, sword and lance, may not 
rend it, does that pearl of great price dwell." 

"What is it, father?" 

" The talisman is — truth." 




VESPER MUSINGS. 

IS silent eve once more: my fav'rite hour; 
The holy moonlight gleams upon my brow; 
And Mem'ry, with its all-absorbing power, 
Is teeming with its vivid reveries now. 

And tireless Thought is on the wing, to scenes 
Long gone, and joyous hours, too bright to last ; 

Yet oh! their visioned beauties linger still. 

While earth with night's soft shadow is o'ercast. 

The voices of the misty Past still float, 
In sweetest cadence, on the evening breeze. 

And utter forth their whisp'rings low and soft, 
Like zephyr -tones among the leafy trees. 

Eyes that once beamed so gently, and so mild, 
To-night seem gazing with their wonted light; 

And forms once near, in dreamy fancy move, 
And flit before my longing spirit's sight. 



VESPER 3£USINGS. 41 

The Present mingles with the Past ; and oh ! 

I seem a boy again, all wild — all free — 
And careless as the summer wind that plays 

In wanton daliance with each flower and tree. 

I join the sport; I laugh, and gaily sing 
With all the merry thoughtlessness and glee 

That erst were mine, ere years had sobered down 
A heart all filled with mirth and levity^ 

But oh ! the vision fades ! the dream hath fled ! 

As sunlight flies, when clouds obscure the sky, 
Or like the rainbow tints that gleam awhile 

In gorgeous splendor, ere they fade and die. 

So fly my fond imaginings — back, back, 
• Into their dusky fane, the darkened Past ! 
And I am left to muse and brood alone. 
While shadows dim and dark, my soul o'ercast. 




THE APPEAL 

SHE sat in her accustomed place within 
The house of prayer; and, as the man of God 
Besought the Throne of Grace in earnest tones 
For blessings on the sick and the oppressed, 
She meekly bowed her head upon her hand, 
While her bosom heaved more tremulously 
Than before. 

Silently I gazed at her. 
And sadly mused in sympathetic thought. 
Impassionedly — and oh, how tenderly 
With solemn, earnest words, she beareth up 
Before the majesty of God on high, 
A loved and absent form ! 



List ! methinks 
I almost catch the music of that prayer. 
As soft and low she sighs it forth ; and as 



THE APPEAL, 43 

It rises on the air, perfumed with love 
And holy feeling, angels bear it near 
The golden throne, and intercede with God 
In her behalf. 

" Indulgent Lord, hear Thou 
The prayer thy humble child would pleading 

bring 
Before thy august throne. Grant me this one 

request — 
He who doth share my love with Thee; he^ who 
At warm Affection's shrine hath fondly bowed. 
And whispered words of love and hope to me ; 
Hath felt the hand of dark disease upon 
His manly brow ; hath stood almost upon 
The very brink of Death's dark, gloomy flood, 
And tasted of its bitter waters: 
O God! restore him. Let the glad warm smile 
Of hope play once again upon his brow ; 
Give back the bloom to that pale and wasted 

cheek, 
And let that eye beam with the sunny light 
Of other, happier days, when all was bright 
And fair, as rosy spring-time's dewy morn. 



44 



THE APPEAL, 



Thou knowest how I love him — how I cling 
With deep affection's all -pervading power 
To him — through good or ill — in joy or woe. 
Then, Father, hear a suppliant's prayer, and grant 
The boon I humbly crave, in Jesus' name. 
Through whom to Thee be all the praise. 




PRO MEMORIA. 

OH, what a host of memories spring to life 
As, conning o'er some partial page, that name 
Gleams on my sight ! What shadows from the vale 
Of Mnemosyne it casts before my eye ! 
How looks, and tones, and well - remembered words 
In sad and mournful retinue pass by! 
Again that soft, brown eye, with melting glance, 
Is gazing into mine ; again those locks 
Of auburn hue, that arched a noble brow, 
In ringlets fall about that cheek, and rest 
Against my own, as, bending o'er me oft, 
She taught me Music's wond'rous, magic skill ; 
Again I feel that thrill, which in the past 
Swept o'er my soul, when in rapt attitude 
I hearkened to the song whose notes swelled forth 
In that soft melody which she alone 
Commanded at her will ; again that smile. 
So winning and so sweet; again that grasp, 



46 PBO MEMOBIA. 

So cordial and so true, is felt, and I, 
In thought recur to those bright halcyon days 
When life and vigor nerved that mortal frame. 
But ah! with these sweet memories come the' 

thought 
She is no move. That form is in the grave, — 
The bounding pulses of the heart are still,— 
That melting eye is glazed and dim in death, — 
That matchless voice, which trilled in sweetest tones 
On earth, is now attuned to loftier strains. 
Which break upon angelic ears amid 
The throng of those who chant the praise of God 
Around the golden throne of Heaven ! 
Farewell! Though time, change, grief, tears, all 

shall weigh 
Upon my soul, and crush me to the earth — 
Yet thou, sweet friend, shalt be remembered still ! 
Green in my memory shall thy virtues bloom ; 
And when thy treasured name shall meet my eye 
Upon some page, and I trill o'er the notes 
Thy voice invested with a matchless cb.arm, 
Fond thoughts of thee shall cluster round my heart, 
And soothe each grief that may invade my breast, 
And bless me like some happy dream of Heaven. 



MY LAST CIGAR. 

ALL slowly rose the fragrant smoke 
In graceful columns o'er my head 
While brightly gleamed the rosy spark 

From out its tiny, ashy bed. 
I gazed upon it with a sigh, 

As lovers gaze upon a star; 
I wept — forgive the trembling tear — 
For oh! it was my last cigar! 



I pressed it fondly to my lips. 

And mused upon the dusky Past — 
And thought of all its vanished friends 

A crowd — of which this was the last. 
I puffed again, and, as the smoke 

In wavy volumes spread afar, 
I uttered low a kind farewell, 

In sadness, to my last cigar. 



48 



MY LAST CIGAB. 



Again I touched it to the lamp, 

Inhaling long its sweet perfume, 
Which wreathed in curling, azure clouds. 

About my lone, deserted room ; 
I fixed on it one lingering look — 

(What foolish men w^e smokers are) — 
But spare the weakness — all is past, 

And I have smoked my last cigar. 





A CONTRAST. 

ONE only word — a whispered tone, 
He breathed into her ear ; 
One only sigh upswelled his breast — 

A sigh of hope and fear. 
One only pressure of the hand 

That trembled in his own; 
One wilder throb of earnest hearts 

That beat in unison; 
One meeting of devoted lips 

That mingled in a kiss; 
One interchange of beaming looks 

Revealing mutual bliss: 
And she was his for weal or woe, 

For sorrow or for joy, 
By ties which nought might overthrow, 

And death alone destroy. 
The bridal scene ; the orange wreath 



50 A CONTBAST, 

Amid her shining hair; 
The costly garments, snowy sheened; 

The jewels rich and rare; 
The priestly robe, the solemn vow, 

The lamp -light's radiant glare, 
The ring upon the trembling hand. 

The blessing and the prayer; 
The rattling of the carriage - wheels ; 

The opening of the door ; 
The tears and wishes of each friend - 

And now, the scene is o'er. 



The snowy couch — the paling cheek, 

The dim and sunken eye ; 
The silent step, the whispered voice ; 

The bitter, choking sigh ; 
The vials on the little stand ; 

The taper dim and low; 
The flowers she had loved and trained 

A few short months ago ; 
The husband with a moistened eye 

And sorrow - stricken tone, 
Breathing to her soft w^ords of hope; 



A CONTRAST. 

She answering with a moan ; 
The breathing, difficult and slow; 

The features pinched and pale ; 
The mute farewell, the bursting sigh ; 

The low, despairing wail ; 
The fixed and slowly glazing eye; 

The anguish deep and sore ; 
The smile, the struggle — the repose — 

Oh God! the scene is o'er. 



TO A FRIEND. 

HAST seen a Summer's morning dawn, all 
bright 
And beautiful? Hast seen the orient sky 
Embathed in golden light, and from his bed 
The god of Day in aureate splendor rise? 
Hast seen him in his onward march sublime 
Toward the zenith of his daily course — 
A moment hid in fleecy, shadowy clouds, 
And then emerging, passing proudly on 
In calm and stately beauty as before? 
Hast seen him in his path of ether blue 
Declining in the mellow -tinted West, 
While crimson clouds a gorgeous canopy 
Hung o'er him, till the last faint, lingering ray 
From his broad disc played o'er the distant hills, 
And glimmered on each lofty spire and dome, 
Then vanished, while the twilight shadows fell 
In silent beauty o'er the earth, and all 
Was tranquil and serene? 



TO A FJRIEND. 53 

Thus, thus, my friend, 
May ever be thy pathway through this life. 
The morn has dawned all fair and beautiful; 
And though a passing cloud at intervals 
Hath cast its darkened image o'er thy way, 
Yet Hope's bright sun with lambent light hath 

spread 
Its genial influence o'er thy soul, and caused 
Thy w^arm young heart to bound with wildest joy. 
So may thy noon -day sun shine calmly on, 
Undimmed by Sorrow's dark, tempestuous storms, 
Until the gathering twilight of thy life 
Shall come with gentle pace, and earth's brief day 
Approach its end ; then shalt thou pass 
Bej^ond the confines of this changing scene 
To that pure world of light, and joy, and love, 
Where plays eternal sunlight evermore. 



THE BLESSING. 

AS dew distils upon the flowers, 
In summer evening's placid hours, 
When night -winds murmur low; 
So o'er my ardent, longing soul, 
With silent, soothing, soft control. 
Thy blessing cometh now. 

It breathes a weird, resistless spell. 
Like music from a fairy dell. 

That floats at Summer's even ; 
It steals across my throbbing brain 
Like zephyrs o'er the wavy main. 

Or sacred thoughts from heaven. 

It cometh like some gentle dream 
That doth upon the senses gleam 

When 'rapt in tranquil slumber, — 
And drives away all thoughts of gloom 



THE BLESSING. 

That shadow forth predestined doom, 
And oft our souls encumber. 

It gilds the Future like some star 
That guides the mariner afar 

Upon the surging wave; 
It whispers words of hope and joy 
That time nor change will e'er destroy, 

But on my heart engrave. 

It thrills me like some benison 
An angel -hand hath cast upon 

A votary at her shrine, 
And brings a joy like that which lives 
Within the soul when God forgives, 

And whispers peace divine. 




ALL DEAD! 

" I asked him — ' Where are the friends of your early days, 
— your classmates and companions ? ' He replied, ' Dead — all 
dead, and I am alone.' " 

Rev. a. B. Robbin's Sermon, Nov. 4th, 18o3. 

THEY are dead — all dead, — and I am alone 
On the shore of Eternity's ocean; 
They have plunged long ago in the dim rolling 

tide, 
And breasted the dark billows' motion. 

The friends of my youth have all left me and 

gone. 
One by one, to their lone silent dwelling; 
The worm and decay are now busy with hearts 
That once with emotion were swelling. 



The eyes that once beamed with devotion's soft 

light, 
And flashed into mine rays of feeling, 



ALL DEAD. 57 

Are glassy and lusterless now in some grave 
O'er which the winged zephyrs are stealing. 

The hands I once seized in affectionate grasp, 
And that yielded in turn the warm token, 
Are mouldering now 'neath the emerald sod 
The fond ties of earth are all broken! 

I'm alone on the earth! they are gone, all gone! 
I stand 'mid a new generation, 
And cast a fond glance from the confines of Time 
Toward the new and the better creation. 

And there, when the toils of this life are all o'er — 

When the last parting sigh shall be given. 

May I meet them and mingle my praises with 

theirs 
By the throne of Jehovah in Heaven ! 




MEMORY. 



FAIR Memory, once again thy sacred halls 
With gentle step I tread. Down thy dim aisles 
I wander in a musing mood, pausing 
Anon, at intervals, to gaze into 
Thy dimly -lighted niches, gathering 
Here and there some fondly -treasured relic 
Of the Past that sweetly stirs within me 
Old associations, — and shaking off 
The clinging mold, I bring it to the light 
And muse upon it, noting oft the change 
That passing years have wTought. 
Some sweet memento from a partial friend. 
It may be, — given at the parting hour, 
When in the course of life our paths diverged. 
And, striking hands, we sadly said " Farewell," 
And passed to other scenes ; or, perchance, some 
Cherished image of a face that loved me, 



3IEM0BY. 59 

And called me by some fond, fraternal name, 
And gave me counsel in my early years. 

Then softly swells 
Upon my ear some touching word that lips 
Now moldering in the dust have spoken. 
Whose sweetness stealeth o'er my soul in tones 
Soft as the floating strains that fill the air, 
When some enchanted lute by siren touched 
Amid old Ocean's coral bed, awakes 
Its fairy music ; and I seem to grasp 
The proffered hand, and see the sunny smile 
Light up the brow — the roseate flush of joy 
Steal o'er the contour of the cheek — the eye 
Rekindle, and its sparkling glance return 
My ardent gaze, as in the years gone by. 
And then I gaze on vivid landscapes, green 
And sloping hills, and murmuring rivulets, 
Waving poplars, clambering vines and aspens 
Quivering in the balmy air as if to 
Bid me to their cooling shade ; and then, in 
All its sweet simplicity and beauty. 
My native cot gleams on my mental sight. 
And startles forth a thousand thoughts of home 
And youth, and childhood's multifarious sports — 



60 



ME3I0BY, 



Of boyish dreams, and airy castles built 

In many an idle hour, now crushed amid 

The sad experience of my riper years. 

And their frail fragments scattered to the winds 

Of heaven. 

And then the vision quickly fades 
Like sunlight when the gathering clouds spread 

o'er 
The smiling earth and dim its golden sheen, — 
And toward the Present I retrace my steps, 
And mingle with the busy tide of Life. 




A HAPPY HOUR. 

HOW sped the winged hours, as beside 
The lamplight's cheerful glow we turned the 
leaves 
Of some fair volume, rich in human lore. 
And paused at intervals to muse upon 
Some gem of thought that seemed to find within 
Our souls a deep and warm response, and thrilled 
Through every fibre of our hearts. 

And then 
9\veet Music, the fair dialect of Heaven — 
The deep, outpouring language of the soul — 
In soft, harmonic waves fell on my ear. 
And rapt my senses in a strange delight. 
Was it the skillful touch and well -trained voice 
That o'ercame me with their magic power. 
And caused my throbbing heart to pause lest its 
Wild beating should cast discord in the song? 
Or was it that mysterious answering 



62 A HAPPY SOUP. 

Of soul to soul, which Music's softest notes 
Can only breatiie in human ears ? I know — 
I know not ; yet a spell profound w^as cast 
About me, and my ardent soul was raised 
Above the dull, cold world to purer hights, 
And breathed an atmosphere of perfect peace. 
Oh, that our life abounded with such hours ! — 
That each returning day should bear upon 
Its tide fresh draughts of happiness divine, 
That ne'er should pall the taste, nor cause 
A weary feeling to come o'er the heart ! 
Then were this world a paradise indeed, 
And each sympathetic soul an angel ; 
Then were our griefs but floating clouds which steal 
Athw^art Hope's golden horizon, but leave 
A wave of sunlight in their lingering train. 





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THE CEMETERY. 

A SUMMER'S day was closing. Beautiful 
And bright the burnished clouds gleamed in 
the West, 
xVs hovering o'er the sinkiiig God of Day 
They seemed to shroud him in their golden hues, 
And celebrate his exit from my sight 
With pageantry sublime. The sighing breeze 
Swept softly 'mong the emerald foliage, 
Stirring the leaves to whispering music 
Low and soft, as when some lingering lute -strain 
Dies faintly on the ear ; the vesper song 
Of birds came intermingled on the air 
With ceaseless music from the droning bee, 
As, homeward winging, oft he paused awhile 
To sip his honied food from every flower. 
Pale Dian flung her orient beams from o'er 
The distant hills, and shed a softened light 



G4 THE CEMETERY, 

Upon the quiet scene ; and glittering stars 
Crept out like watching sentinels, to guard 
Her in her pathway to the West. 

* * * 

I was alone beside the place of graves. 

I stood within the sacred precincts of 

The city of the dead, and gazed upon 

The grassy mounds that mark the silent home 

Of each inhabitant. 

Deep, solemn thoughts 
Stole o'er me, and I mused in reverie 
Long and silently. Beside me rested, o'er 
Its pale, unconscious tenant, a stately 
Marble tomb, that told the virtues of the 
Dear departed, and marked his transit from 
A world of care. Hard by grew fragrant flowers 
Upon an humble grave, that loving hands 
Had planted, and moistened eyes had watered 
With their bitter tears ; and in the distance, 
Amid the twilight's dim, uncertain light, 
Rose the papal cross, that ancient symbol 
Of the Church of Christ, and on its frontlet 
Glimmered in the moon's pale light, "I. H. S." — 
*' Jesus the Saviour of Men," — touching words ; 



THE CEMETERY, 65 

How fit an emblem for " the dead in Christ," 

Expressive of the fadeless hope and trust 

The Christian feels when comes the trying hour. 

Here, side by side in gloomy silence, lay 

The stalwart man and feeble child : the old. 

Full of decrepitude and years ; the young, 

In all the bloom and vigor of life's morn, 

When brilliant visions throng the soul ; 

And those in life's meridian splendor — 

Amid the zenith of ambitious dreams. 

Cut down like oaks before the howling storm. 

* * * 

A few steps more upon the vernal sward, 
And at my feet in unawakening sleep 
Reposed the form of one, in other days 
Far dearer than a stranger. Scarce had he 
Reached the noon of life ; proud Manhood's bloom 

was 
On his noble brow ; his eye was bright, his 
Earnest heart beat high, and yet a summons 
From the Land of Shadows rang in his ear 
AVith sad'ning sound, and quickly bade him hence; 
And by his side, two little mounds bedecked 
With many a floral gem, told of the past. 



66 THE CEMETERY, 

With all its varied scenes of grief and joy. 
A Mother's hand had placed those flow'rets there - 
A Mother's eye had freshened them with tears — 
And oft beside those tiny graves she bowed 
In bitter grief for those she dearly loved, 
And breathed to heaven the unavailing sigh. 

Sleep on, ye dwellers in the silent ground — 
Ye denizens of that lone, shadowy realm 
Where knowledge cometh not, nor man's device, 
But earth returns unto its kindred dust. 
And spirits unto God, their primal source. 
Sleep on, until the dawning of that morn 
When all that slumber in the earth shall rise, 
Shake off corruption's taint, and soar on wings 
Of light to Immortality. 



SONG. 

OH, soft swelling Music ! 
How wondrous thy power, 
When tremble thy accents 
At evening's calm hour ! 
What purest emotion 
Steals over the soul, 
When through its deep chambers 
Thy harmonies roll. 

How gently it waketh 

Fond dreams of the past, 
By Time's falling curtain 

But dimly o'ercast ! 
Fair visions of moments 

Pure, holy, and bright, 
Whose mem'ry, like incense, 

Will ever delight. 



68 



SONG. 



What feelings of pleasure, 

All calm and divine, 
Thy devotee feeleth 

When bowed at thy shrine; 
How soareth his fancy 

On silvery wings, 
When the strain that he loveth 

Is swept o'er the strings. 

Oh, sweet floating Music, 

How witching thy power. 
When cometh in beauty 

The still vesper hour — 
Like voices of angels 

That fall on our ears 
In low, murmured breathings 

From heavenly spheres. 




"DREAMS OF THE HEAKT." 

SUGGESTED ON HEARING THE SONG. 

HOW sweetly lingers in my ear " 
That soft seolian strain, 
Which told of dreams that pass away 
And never come again ! 
How sweet the chords, how sad the words, 
That blended in each tone ! 
Like music in the ambient air 
That mingles with a moan. 

Dreams of the heart ! To-day how bright 

They steal across* the brain ; 

Alas ! to-morrow clouds obscure, 

And tear-drops fall like rain. 

The bright eye sparkles, and the heart 

With earnest hope beats high ; — 



70 DREAMS OF THE HEART. 

Then throbs the quiv'ring pulse of fear, 
And swells the choking sigh ! 

We grasp in love the friendly hand 
That rests within our own, 
And gaze into the beaming eye, 
And list the winning tone. 
We turn again, and on the cheek 
That glowed with healthful bloom. 
We see the pallid hand of Death 
That pointeth to the tomb ! 

And yet I love that mournful strain, 

E'en though it starts a tear. 

And wakes within my anxious soul 

The hurried throb of fear. 

I love it, and the pensive air 

Will vibrate in my ear 

Whene'er I muse of bygone times. 

And friends that once were near. 

Then touch again the trembling chords. 
And breathe the plaintive song ; 
And I will dream of golden harps 



DBEA3IS OF THE HEART, 



71 



By angels swept along — 
Of harps that yield a sad'ning sound 
When loved ones fade and die, 
But change to loftier, holier themes 
When they ascend on high. 




AN HOUR WITH MEMORY. 

COME, holy Memory, let us muse awhile 
In silent reverie o'er the dreamy Past. 
Unlock thy casket, spread thy treasures out 
With liberal hand, that I may choose from out 
Thy varied store some sweet remembrance 
Clothed in winning garb ; for, there are some 
I would not choose, whose dark habiliments 
Reveal sad histories of care and woe; 
Of sighs and tears, and anxious boding thoughts ; 
And plaintive tones whose mournful melody 
Is echoed down the aisles of Time to me ; 
But let me gaze upon the record fair 
Of some bright, happy hour that shed its light 
*Upon my pathway long ago, ere grief 
And disappointment, like a mantle broad 
And gloomy, shrouded me within their folds ; — 
Some record of an hour o'er which sweet Hope 
Like guardian angel smiled, and thrilled my soul 



AJS" 110 UB WITH MEMORY, 73 

With purest joy ; o'er which affection threw 
Its soft and lambent rays, like sunshine on 
The rippling river; o'er which sweet voices 
Cast their magic spell like swelling lute -strains 
On the balmy air of Summer's even. 
Some such a boon as this, O Memory, 
Thy votary craves, to win him from the world 
That loads his ear with tales of toil and strife, 
And selfishness and vanity. 

Hast none 
To give, sweet Memory ? Oh, canst thou not 
Among thy musty tomes show one fair page 
Whereon no tear hath quivered ? Canst thou not 
Point me to some passage that shall regild 
The Past with gorgeous hue, and cause a smile 
To radiate where gloom hath settled long ! 
Ah ! it comes — with influence gentle as the 
Breeze that fans the fevered cheek, or dallies 
With the locks that arch the brow of beauty ; 
A memory of my Mother ! — of her eye 
That beamed with love upon her wayward child, 
And watched beside him oft when pale Disease 
With skeleton embrace clung to his form 
Tenaciously ; — a mem'ry of her voice 



74 AN HOUR WITH MEMORY, 

That counseled and restrained when sin allured ; — 
That soothed and comforted in sorrow's night, 
And taught his lips to say, "-Thy will be done; — '''' 
A memory of her earnest love — deep, pure, 
And holy as a Christian's to his God — 
A love that purifies and elevates 
The soul, that guards it in temptation's hour, 
And wooes it back again to truth ; — a love 
That steals upon me softly, even now. 
With influence sacred as a thought of heaven; 
A memory of her parting blessing 
As I lingered on the threshhold of a 
Fondly - cherished home, ere I went forth 
To mingle with the busy, restless throng 
That crowd the avenues of human life. 
And with it now come other memories. 
By dear association linked to those 
That cluster 'round a mother's cherished name, 
All laden with their wealth of smiles and tears. 
To win me to their shadowy embrace. 
* * * 

But, Memory, w^e must part. The Present calls. 
And I must say. Adieu ! Fair Mnemosyne, 
I thank thee for thy gentle guidance down 



AN HOUR WITH MEMORY. 75 

The Past — for glimpses of departed joys 
Whose shadows hover o'er me like the mists 
Of twilight softly gathering 'round the earth. 
Lock up thy jewels, keep the casket bright, 
And when in musing mood I seek again 
The precincts of thy temple, welcome me 
With beaming eye, and kind, inviting smile, 
To spend an hour in thy mysterious realm, 
And gaze upon thy treasures. 




TO POWERS' GREEK SLAVE, 

OH, can insensate marble speak 
In earnest, pleading tone, 
And injured Innocence look forth 

From eyes of solid stone ? 
Can Parian lips their moving tale 

With eloquence impart, 
And start the quiv'ring sigh within 
The rapt beholder's heart ? 



Oh, god -like Art! Oh, wondrous skill. 

That thus can sweetly trace 
Upon the rough, unsightly rock, 

A pure, angelic face ! — 
That thus can form the swelling bust, 

And round the snowy zone, — 
Can carve with matchless skill each limb 

From cold and lifeless stone ! 



TO POWERS' GREEK SLAVE, 11 

Oh, form divine ! upon whose brow 

Sits Purity enthroned — 
The contour of whose cheek is fair 

As ever angel owned, — 
Whose tapering arm of rarest mold 

Rude manacles confine, 
Whose quiet attitude of grace 

Is perfect and divine, — 

To thee we fain would tune the lyre, 

And breathe upon the string 
^olian strains — low, soft, and sweet — 

As when the angels sing. 
Thou art the fair embodiment 

Of all the soul might dream. 
When fairy visions throng the mind, 

And on the senses gleam. 

In thee, we worship and adore 

The Beautiful enshrined, 
And praise the Master -hand whose skill 

The peerless theme designed. 
On thee we gaze till heart and soul 

Are led entranced away, 
And thought and feeling rapt, enchained, 

Bow to thy mystic sway. 



LINES. 

WRITTEN ON HEARING H. AND C. SING, "ARE WE 
ALMOST THERE?" 

OH, sing for me that gentle song 
Of harmony and love ; 
Its notes so pure that heaven's throng 
Might catch the strain above. 

Sing of that frail and dying one. 
Whose eye beamed soft and fair, 
As gently she pronounced the words, 
"Are we not almost there?" 



Sing of " the nook " and shady bower ; 
The gushing waters free ; 
The "sculptured niche" and tow'ring mount ; 
Oh, sing that song for me ! 



LIJVJES. 79 

Slug of that pale one's dying wish 
To rest within the bower, 
Where she had often gaily roved 
In budding Childhood's hour. 

Sing of the weeping, stricken hearts 
That gathered 'round her bed, 
To gaze upon that fragile form. 
Now, motionless and dead. 

Oh, sing for me that tender song ; 
Its melancholy tone 
Awakes a chord of sympathy 
Before untouched, unknown. 




THE CONSUMPTIVE. 

THE Winter's frost had fled away, 
And sweetly bloomed the vernal flowers ; 
The hum of bees, and song of birds, 
Re-echoed in the sylvan bowers. 

All nature seemed created new ; 
The earth was robed in fairest green, 
And brightly gleamed on flower and tree 
The jeweled dew-drop's glittering sheen. 

But ah ! that Spring brought not to one 
Pale brow its wonted healthful bloom ; 
One only rose clung to that cheek — 
An emblem of an early tomb ! 

The morn of life had only dawned. 
The sunbeam just begun to play, 
When, in the distance rose a cloud, 
To chase that pure, bright beam away. 



THE CONSUMPTIVE. 81 

Ah, frail one, thou so pure, so mild, 

So gifted, in life's early day. 

How soon hath fled thy young heart's dream, 

All chilled by premature decay. 

Yet still thou ling'rest on the earth, 
Close to the crumbling verge of death, 
Like some frail flower, upon whose leaves 
Hath blown stern Autumn's wasting breath. 

But courage, frail one ! soon thou I't be 
On that mysterious, distant shore 
Where Autumn comes not, and the flowers 
Of endless Spring bloom evermore ! 

There, blight, nor care, nor pain, nor death, 
Shall reach thee with their sad'ning gloom, 
But all be smiles and sunlight then, 
In heaven's eternal, fadeless bloom. 



NAY, TELL ME NOT. 

NAY, tell me not thou canst not trill 
Thy lyre to tones of kindred song — 
That o'er thy soul no magic thrill 
Steals as the chords are swept along. 

Nay, tell me not thy thoughts refuse 
In currents musical to flow — 
That thou hast vainly touched the harp 
With gushing feeling all aglow ; 

For oft within thy soul -lit eye, 
As listening to some fervid line, 
I've watched the softly - sparkling beam 
As Fancy grasped the thought divine. 



There lives within thy soul the spark 
Promethean that from heaven came, 
Which, fanned by some congenial breeze. 
Would burst into a glowing flame. 



NAY, TELL 3fE NOT. 83 

Then doubt no longer ; touch the strings, 
Though tremulous may be the tone ; 
'T will find an echo in some heart 
That throbs responsive to thine own. 




A THOUGHT OF HOME. 

A THOUGHT of home ! How softly stole 
The feeling o'er my heart, 
While all unbidden to mine eye 
The trembling tear would start ! 
A thought of home, amid that throng 
Of spirits wild and gay, 
Thrilled through my soul all glad and warm. 
Like blessings when I pray. 



A thought of home ! Ah, little dreamed 

That noisy, laughing throng. 

As rang their voices light and free 

In that familiar song. 

The memories it startled forth. 

And fixed before my sight — 

Pure visions of departed hours. 

Illumined with delight! 



A THOUGHT OF H03IE. 85 

Ah, little thought they, weary miles 

On Fancy's tireless wing. 

My thoughts went out to meet the Past, 

As birds to meet the Spring. 

Like them, as from an exile clime, 

They speed their winged way, 

So I, on Memory's pinions glide 

To scenes far, far away. 

A thought of home ! that holy place 
Where first a mother's care 
Restrained and guided me in youth, 
And taught the lisping prayer; 
And where a fond, paternal hand, 
Was laid upon my brow, 
And loving words were told to me 
That thrill me even now. 

That mother's breast whereon I lay. 
And wept my childish grief, — 
How glad I'd seek that refuge now, 
Assured of sweet relief! 
But weary distance intervenes, 
And many a hill and vale. 
Whose echoes, as I call her name. 
Come mocking on the gale. 



A THOUGHT OF HOME, 

Dear cherished home ! can I forget, 

Through Time's unpausing flight, 

The sparkling joys that circle thee 

In aureate splendor bright ? 

Thou world of love, within whose realm 

Unkindness holds no sway, 

Be thou my calm and sure retreat, 

When other hopes decay. 




ONE OF LIFE'S BRIGHT HOURS. 

TT^WAS silent eve, and through the clouded sky 
JL A moonbeam dimly shone with feeble light, 
While, in the distant West, one only star 
Peered through the misty canopy of night, 
Like some lone sentinel with sleepless eye, 
Who guards a sacred trust. 

In whisp'ring tones 
The evening zephyrs swept o'er hill and vale. 
And dallied with the elm trees' quiv'ring leaves, 
Or murmured music through their swaying limbs. 
Hard by, a lake its crystal waters spread 
In sheeny beauty in the uncertain light. 
And mirrored in its silver tide the moon 
And that lone star. 

How calm the hour, how sweet 
The scene, as, low reclining on the mossy bank 
'Neath that umbrageous elm, we silent gazed 



8S ONE OF LIFE'S BRIGHT HOURS. 

Afar, as on some fairy realm, bedecked 

In all the weird and shadowy beauty 

Of legendary tales of olden times. 

Our minds, as swayed by some supernal might, 

Drank in the nameless magic of the hour ; 

And thoughts deep, beautiful, and all sublime. 

Swept o'er our souls, and filled our hearts with joy. 

Instinctively, as if in sympathy. 

We gazed into each other's eyes, then turned 

To muse upon the grandeur, dim and wild. 

That seemed to woo us with resistless power. 

Our hands were gently clasped, and in each breast 

A thrill of pleasure sweetly stirred the heart, 

While murmured words, with soft and dreamy 

sound, 
Fell from our lips, as if our tongues had caught 
The inspiration of the witching hour. 
And feared a louder tone would break the charm, 
Dissolve the spell, and bring us back to life. 
But oh, as ever thus with all that's bright 
And beautiful on earth, some dissonance 
Must mingle and destroy the potent spell ; 
So, with a harsh, discordant, grating sound, 
A voice unmusical disturbed the scene. 



ONE OF LIFE'S BRIGHT HOURS. 89 

And roused us from our dream -like reverie 
O'er unreal things ; and our ephemeral world 
Was borne away like vapory mists before 
The Day -God's orient beams, and left a void 
Within our hearts — a niche unfilled, where late 
Bright fancies reveled unrestrained and free. 

Long years have fled since then, and I have drank 
Of Sorrow's chalice many a bitter draught, 
And drained the brimming cup of frenzied joy ;— 
Have mingled with the gay and heartless world, 
And stood beside the charnel vault where sleep 
The dearly loved and cherished ones of earth ; — 
But still the memory of that sacred hour ; 
Its moonlight and its isolated star ; 
The clasped hand ; the softly beaming eye ; 
The peerless form that lingered by my side ; — 
Clings to my soul like some mysterious charm, 
And stirs the smould'ring embers of my hope 
Into a flickering, momentary flame. 




A SIMILE. 



A.' 



N op'ning bud exhaled its odors sweet, 
Xjl. And spread its fragrance o'er a shady bower 
And many a limpid dew-drop, pure and bright. 
Was glistening in the bursting flower. 

It bloomed awhile ; but ere its roseate tints 
Were fully limned, a scorching sunny ray 
Too rudely shone upon the beauteous gem, 
And soon it drooped — its freshness fled away. 

Its petals closed ; the leaves began to fall, 
And, one by one, its gorgeous tints to fade, 
Till, at the dewy eve, its fragrance gone, 
A wreck it lay within the vernal shade. 



Thus earthly hopes decay ! 
Their visions pass away 



A SUIILE, 



91 



Like morning mists before the sun, 
That vanish ere the day is done. 



Thus fades life's fitful gleam — 

Its short-lived airy dream. 

Oft, ere the twilight hour appears, 

Our bark is wrecked and we 're in tears. 



THE ORIGIN OF THE DEW-DROP 

FAR, far adown dark Ocean's depths, 
Beneath the surging wave, 
Is a weird palace, bright and fair — 
A mermaid's coral cave. 
A siren here doth tune her harp 
To sweet and witching lays. 
When linger in the glowing West 
The sun's declining rays. 

Far above, in the blue expanse, 
A light - winged seraph dwells ; 
Tinged cloudlets form his palace rare, 
"And grace his airy dells. 
This seraph on a mission, kind. 
Went o'er the trackless sea, 
(To cheer some broken heart, perchance. 
With fairy minstrelsy), 
And as he spread his azure wings 
O'er Ocean's briny way, 



ORIGIN OF THE DEW- DROP. 93 

Sweet sounds from out its caverns came — 

A soft and gentle lay. 

The seraph, charmed, resigned his flight. 

He sought the mermaid's cave. 

And there, with her, did gaily sing, 

And 'neath the waters lave. 

But presently the parting came, 

And gently they drew near ; 

The seraph breathed a parting sigh^ 

The siren shed a tear. 

That tear, enshrined within his breast, 

The seraph bore above ; 

'T was sacred, holy, for it was 

A pledge of fairy love. 

But as he sped in upward flight. 

The tear escaped and fell 

Far down to earth, and rested in 

A lonely, sad hare -bell. 

Thus came to earth the dew-drop bright. 

To gladden leaf and flower, — 

To nestle in the choicest gems 

That grace each floral bower. 



WE WILL LAY HER TO SLEEP. 



W 



E will lay her to sleep in the cold, cold 
ground, 

And heap on her grave the soft, grassy mound. 
We will plant the rose and violet there, 
And hallow^ the duty with many a prayer. 

We '11 talk of her beauty and winning grace; 
Of her childish smile and love - lighted face ; 
Of her wavy hair and soft, black eye ; 
And her spirit that 's wafted above the sky. 



We '11 think of her oft as an early rose 

That bloomed in the morning, but ere the day's 

close 
Folded its petals, and tranquilly slept, 
While night- dews of sympathy over it wept. 



WU WILL LAY HER TO SLEEP. 95 

We '11 think of her oft as an angel bright. 
Spreading her wings in the realms of light — 
Singing her anthem of infantile praise 
Where the sunshine of heaven eternally plays. 

We '11 strew o'er her grave the choicest of flowers, 
Freshened in hue by Spring's early showers ; 
And sadly resign her to death and the sod, 
But think of her only as dwelling with God. 



MUSINGS. 



HOW oft when evening shadows softly fall 
In silence o'er the earth, and weary man 
From labor rests, and seeks a calm repose. 
Steal o'er us pleasing reveries and dreams 
That seem to lift us far above the dull 
And plodding world, and fill our ardent souls 
With anxious longings for the unattained. 
Some gentle train of thought we choose from out 
The mass that crowds upon our teeming brain, 
And follow captive wheresoe'er it leads. 
Perchance it points us to some quiet vale 
Where waving poplars rustle in the breeze 
That plays among our locks, all redolent 
Of soft perfume from many a budding flower ; 
And far adown the slope our fancy sees, 
Embow'red 'mid the clamb'ring vines, a cot 
With trellised front, and lawn of emerald green, 
Each casement half - concealed by buds and flowers 



3IUSIJVGS. 97 

Of every hue, — while near the door a spring 
Its purling stream sends forth to mingle with 
The rolling tide below. Within that cot 
We fancy Truth and Innocence to dwell. 
The rustic maid who trains those vines and flowers, 
We deck in simple garb of fairest white ; 
Her melting eye seems fixed at intervals 
Upon our own ; her soft and genial smile 
Like sunlight sweetly breaks upon her face. 
Anon we hear the silvery tones that 'fall 
From those pure lips which, parting, now display 
The dazzling pearls within, while laughter clear 
And soft rings on our ear, as drawing near 
Her aged sire who smokes his pipe beside 
The cottage door, she lists some merry tale 
Of other days when he was young and gay, 
And ardent blood coursed through his youthful 

veins. 
They two — the blooming maid, the hoary sire — 
So happy seem beside their cottage home, 
We fain would catch the spirit of their mirth. 
And strive to bend our footsteps hitherward, — 
When lo ! the spell dissolves — the vision flies, 
Like mists that melt before the rising sun. 



A MEMORY. 

AS o'er the dusty path of Life 
I bent my plodding way, 
With alternating hopes and fears 
To comfort or dismay, 
I paused beneath a shady bower, 
Where grateful zephyrs strayed 
About each clamb'ring vine and flower, 
And beams of moonlight played. 



A sound of music caught my ear, 
And chained me with its spell — 
So low and soft its spirit tones 
In dreamy beauty fell. 
I listened, and a lute -like voice 
Poured forth a warbling strain. 
Weird -like and beautiful as that 
Of sirens 'neath the main. 



A ME3I0BY, 99 

The obedient hand with skillful touch 
Swept o'er the quiv'ring strings, 
Which murmured low a touching air, 
Sweet as some angel sings. 
Enrapt, I listened till the sound 
In fainter cadence fell — 
Revived again — then died away 
In soft and ling'ring swell. 

Long years have floated by since then, 

And still I tread Life's way, 

And muse upon its checkered scenes 

When fades the light of day ; 

And oft the memory of those sounds, 

That voice and leafy bower, 

Steal o'er me like some soothing dream. 

And charm me with their power. 



LINES TO S. AND M. 

" Long, long be my heart with such memories filled ! 
Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled ; 
You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will, 
But the scent of the roses will hang 'round it still." 

MOOBE. 

HOW oft — as o'er Life's checkered path 
With sadclen'd step we tread, 
And muse upon the varied Past, 
Its joys and sorrow's fled — 
Steal o'er us glowing thoughts of hours 
Filled with intense delight. 
When silvery voices rang in glee, 
And eyes were beaming bright. 



How vividly revives again 

Each winning look and tone ; 

Each smile that played o'er Beauty's brow, 

And on us softly shone ; 

How form's departed softly gleam 



LINES TO S. AND 3L 101 

Upon the mental sight, 

And move amid the crowds that throng 

The Past's illumined night. 

Yes, deeply mirrored in my heart 

Such images remain ; 

And when I muse in thought, they seem 

Instinct with life again. 

Like fairy music float the tones 

That thrilled me long ago, 

And Mem'ry's picture showeth scenes 

Time can not o'erthrow. 

And bright among them long shall live 

The memory of one hour — 

O'er which the light of pleasure beamed, 

Without a cloud to lower. 

Kind words and looks and genial smiles. 

Like Lethean balms for pain. 

Soothed each discordant note of woe. 

And joy was mine again. 

A sweet memento still remains 
To bless that sacred hour — 



1(»2 LINES TO S, AND M, 

A souvenir of holy things — 

A fair and fragrant flower ! 

O, may its emblem, pure and high, 

My watchword ever be, 

And "virtue" guide my watid'ring barque 

O'er Life's uncertain sea. 

And round your hearts, dear, cherished friends. 

May clust'ring virtues twine, — 

Religion's peace pervade each soul, 

And calmest joy's divine. 

And when the sparkling eye grows dim. 

And pales youth's roseate glow. 

Be yours the hope that cheers, sustains, 

The Christian's life below. 




TO REV. A. B. ROBBINS. 

ON HIS FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY. 

THE fiftieth cycle of the rolling years 
That mark the decades of thy life has come, 
And with it, prosperous gales to waft thee on 
Still further in the surging tide that beats 
And foams about thy life - barque's filling sails. 
Ah, what a retrospect is thine ! How much 
Of joy and brightness, sadness, gloom. 
And mystery, checker the pathway of 
Thy toilsome, busy life ! Thou hast seen first 
The tender blade put forth its feeble growth 
In soil of native richness, 'mid the blooms 
Of Western wilds, and oft with wearied heart. 
And patient toil, hast thou the tender plant, 
Encouraged in its growth by kindly care, 
Until the ear put forth its milky fruit 
To bless the hand that nourished and sustained - 



104 TO BEV, A. B, BOBBINS. 

It in the storm and drouth, and heat and cold 
Of many a passing hour ; and then the soft, 
Distilling dew, and gentle rain and sun, 
Brought forth the golden ripening corn. 

Thou too 
Hast seen the dearly loved depart and leave 

The scenes of earthly toils ; the help - meet of 
Thine earlier years, and children in the bloom 
And freshness of life's morn, have one by one. 
Gone down to death, to silence, and the grave ! 
And of thy flock, the stalwart and the strong ; 
The aged and the weak ; and precious lambs, 
Are sheltered in the Shepherd's arms within 
The Everlasting Fold ; while some remain 
With others, gathered since by gentle words 
From sin's delusive paths, to cheer and bless 
Thee in thy work of love. 

Thine the bold heart 
And earnest word to battle with the hosts 
Of sin and wickedness where'er they lift 
Their arms defiant of the Right and True, 
Be it the wine - cup's poison, or that dark. 



TO BEV. A, B. BOBBINS. 105 

Insidious foe of human liberty 

Now trampled in the dust ; or any form 

Of wrong and outrage that doth mar and blight 

The image of the noblest work of God. 

Thine the firm soul, the Puritanic will 

That bends nor swerves to right nor left to court 

The wooing breeze of favor or renown, 

But with unflinching courage draws the line 

Beyond which none may go and yet remain 

Consistent followers of Him who died 

In attestation of the glorious truths 

He uttered while on earth, to bless and save 

A wretched, sinful, dying race. 

Press on. 
Brave soldier of the cross, to nobler hights, 
AM loftier themes evoked from that deep mine 
Of truth where delve the purest minds of earth. 
Until at last, when youth and vigor fail 
With passing years, and earthly armor shall 
Be changed for shining robes and heavenly crown, 
The mem'ry of thy life shall still survive, 

8 



106 



TO BEV, A, B. BOBBINS. 



Like some sweet legacy of priceless worth, 

To teach the Way, the Truth, the Life, to those 

Who linger still upou the changing earth. 




GRAND MILITARY REVIEW. 

AT WASHINGTON, MAY 1, 1865.* 

TWO hundred thousand burnished arms 
Gleam in the golden light of day, 
While guns and steeds and stalwart men 
Make up the gorgeous, grand array. 

Gay banners cleave the balmy air, 
And martial music's stirring strain 

Thrills every heart, whose ringing shout 
Welcomes each hero back again. 

Bright wreaths and gaudy chaplets rare, 

By loving fingers deftly wrought, 
Grace many a form that late before 

On sanguinary fields had fought. 

* Read at the celebration of the Fourth of July, 1865, at Musca- 
tine, Iowa. 



108 GRAND MILITARY REVIEW. 

Vast crowds, with long and loud huzzas, 
The passing ranks of veterans cheer ; 

While 'kerchiefs flutter in the breeze, 
And words of welcome catch the ear. 

There stands the hero of the war — 
The matchless, swerveless, tried, and true 

Who never, in the darkest hour, 
Doubted the noble boys in blue. 

Silent and taciturn he stands, 
And looks upon the moving scene ; 

No outward sign betrays the thoughts 
His patient brain and bosom screen. 

With acts^ not words, with glorious deeds 
He fills the measure of his fame, 

And leaves his country to declare 
The fadeless honors due his name ! 

Before him in review now pass 
The veteran hosts he oft hath led. 

Who ne'er recoiled in battle's shock, 
Nor Rebel shells and bullets fled. 



GRAND MILITARY REVIEW, 109 

With quickened step and kindling eye 
They catch their chieftain's earnest gaze, 

While Mem'ry wings them swiftly back 
To other, darker, drearier days. 

But noW: the smoke of battle past — 
The dreadful days of carnage o'er — 

Their hearts are filled with brighter thoughts, — 
Of home and happy scenes once more. 

Make room, then, for the soldiers ! — room 
For Sherman, Sheridan, and Meade ! — 

For all the heroes, brave and true. 
Who served our country in her need ; — 

For those with muskets in their hands. 
As well as those who bear the sword ; 

For those who charged at each command, 
And drenched with blood the emerald sward. 

Yes, make them room ! A nation's love 

And endless gratitude are theirs ; 
A nation's homage and its care, 

And oh, a nation's holiest prayers ! 



no GRAND MILITARY REVIEW, 

Close by their side a viewless throng 
March to inaudible command — 

Celestial music guides their steps 
In echoes from the Spirit Land — 

Brave comrades, lost on many a field 
Where flaming War's red billows rolled, - 

With silent tread join in the crowd, 
The gorgeous pageant to behold. 

O, noble dead ! O, martyred brave ! — 

Of Liberty the seal and sign. 
The bloody, human sacrifice 

Is perfect, and the end divine ! 

What means this pageant ? Nothing more 
Than banners, music, and the tread 

Of conquering hosts from battle-fields, 
By gallant chieftains proudly led ? 

A festive scene ? a gala day ? 

Triumphal arches, wreaths, and flowers, 
That flash a moment on the sight 

And vanish with the passing hours ? 



GBAND MILITARY BEVIEW. Ill 

Oh, infinitely more than these ; — 

Oh, loftier, grander, holier far, 
Than all the glit'ring " pride and pomp 

And circumstance of glorious war ! " 

It meaneth that the sacrifice 
Of blood hath full atonement made 

For all the long, dark catalogue 
Of wrong and sin upon us laid. 

It meaneth that the bond are free ! 

The gyves and fetters of the Slave 
Are broken, and Oppression's might 

Hath sunk in its eternal grave ! 

It means that Freedom, Equal Rights, 
With Law and Order in the scale, 

Have found their level, and that stern, 
Unyielding Justice shall prevail ! 

It means that yon bright, starry flag, 
Though torn, and soaked with human gore. 

Shall wave o'er free men, and shall mock 
The weary, cringing Slave no more ! 



112 GBAJSD MILITARY REVIEW. 

It meaneth Progress, Power, and Might ! 

A nation's proud, undying fame ; — 
That God defends and saves the Right, 

And covers Wrong with endless shame. 

It means that traitors who would lift 
Their dastard hands to strike us down, 

Must meet inevitable fate. 
And wear a halter — not a crown. 

It meaneth Peace, whose whisp'ring gales 
O'er hill and vale, and wood and stream. 

Shall gently breathe in music soft 
As sometimes mingles with a dream. 

And while, with hearts yet blanched with grief. 
For him — our country's savior — slain. 

We mourn the noblest, truest, best, 
With drops like soft, distilling rain ; 

Yet, looking upward to the light 
That breaks in beams of splendor o'er 

Each mountain, hill -top, tree, and glen, 
We doubt and hesitate no more. 



GRAND MILITARY REVIEW. 113 

Like him, " with firmness in the right, 
As God shall give us strength to see," 

We will maintain the cause his blood 
Did consecrate to Liberty ! 

And here, upon this natal day 
Of Freedom's life, with all the past — 

Its memories, hopes, its doubts and fears. 
Now shining and now overcast — . 

Redeemed and purified by War's 

Red blast ; regenerate and saved 
From Anarchy and Sin and Death ; 

By all the dangers we have braved, — 

We pledge anew our sacred faith. 

And by the memory of our sires, — 
Their struggles, hopes, and fervent prayers, 

Ascending from their altar fires, — 

By the vast hecatombs of slain, 
That slumber 'neath the springing sod. 

Whose silent graves, with pleading voice, 
All solemnly look up to God, — 



114 GBAND MILITARY REVIEW, 

By the lone widow's scalding tears; 

By the sad orphan's plaint of woe; 
By the maimed soldier, wounded, sore, 

Who meets our sight where'er we go ; 

By all the vict'ries we have won ; 

By each defeat that laid us low ; 
By every sword and every gun, 

Captured from the infuriate foe; 

By every port, and town, and State, 
Released from Buin's fatal grasp, 

And placed once more by w^illing hands 
Within the Union's loving clasp ; 

By all the suff'ring, pain, and woe; 

By all the anxious thought endured ; 
By all the joy and ecstasy 

Of peace and victory secured, — 

We swear before high heaven to-day 
Our glorious Union to maintain ; 

Our rights and liberties to keep. 
Unsullied by a single stain. 



GRAND MILITARY REVIEW. 115 

From sire to son the rich bequest, 
Uninarred, untarnished, and secure, 

Shall pass — a priceless legacy — 
While rolling ages shall endure. 

And when, in future days, on History's page, 
Shall glow the record of this time. 

Our Country and our Country's cause 
Shall live in theme and song sublime. 

Ours the proud record that we won 

In Liberty's ennobling cause — 
Subdued our traitors, freed our slaves. 

And vindicated righteous laws. 

Then rear the structure broad and high ; 

Lay the foundations deep and strong. 
And dedicate the fabric rare 

With fervent ode and joyous song. 

And keep, oh, keep the temple pure — 
Pure as when first our Washington 

Knelt meekly at its sacred shrine, 
W^ith thanks to God for Freedom won ! 



116 GBAND MILITARY REVIEW, 

Pure as when Lincoln bowed his head 
And shed a martyr's crimson blood ! — 

Yes, pure as when a nation's grief 
Poured forth its unavailing flood ! — 

And pure as now, when, joyfully, 
We meet to celebrate this day, 
While gushing sunlight's gilded beams 
In softened splendor o'er us play ; — 

Pure as a dream of yonder heaven — 
As glit'ring dew - drops on the sod ; 

Pure as the theme that angels sing, 
Pure as some holy thought of God ! 




THE DEAD SEA. 

THOU " curst of God,'' what mighty wonders 
rest 
Beneath thy veiled and misty deep ! 
What haughty heroes who defied the Lord, 
Within thy lifeless bosom sleep ! 

Here rest the doomed of Sodom's sinful race, 
And dark Gomorrah's treacherous sons 
Lie buried far beneath the briny wave, 
That here in sullen silence runs. 



Here blows the dread simoom in fury wild. 
And here the fierce sirocco's blast 
Pursues both man and beast, while heav'n above 
With gath'ring gloom is overcast. 



118 THE DEAD SEA. 

Here Desolation dwells ! A burning sun 
Beams o'er the parched and sterile earth ; 
And Silence — sad, oppressive Silence — reigns, 
Where men of other times had birth. 

Mysterious Sea ! when, at the Lord's command, 
Thou givest up thy sleeping dead. 
What forms, what relics of an ancient age, 
Will spring from thy dark, murky bed ! 

Till then, thou 'rt silent, save when rocked by 

winds 
Thy waves put forth a plaintive moan. 
Or w^hen the lonely Bulbul's song is heard, 
High o'er thy bosom's bursting foam. 

Thou rollest on, deserted, wild ; no bark ; 
No cheerful sail upon thy wave ; 
No human form upon th' accursed tide 
Which guards the ancient cities' grave. 



"THE BEAUTIFUL ARE NEVER 
DESOLATE."* 

DO bright eyes never shed a tear ? 
Do gay hearts never throb with fear ? 
Nor merry voices quiver? 
Do roseate hues unfading glow, 
Like soft, auroral tints on snow, 
On Beauty's cheek forever ? 

Do lips that part in sunny smile, 
And speak a joyous word the while, 

Ne'er give a sorrowing token ? 
Do formless dreams that haunt the mind, 
And with a soft persuasion bind, 

Forever charm, unbroken ? 

Ah, no ! the brightest eye will fill — 
The gayest heart will sometimes chill, 
When gloomy doubt o'erpowers ! 



•Bailey's Festus. 



120 NEVER DESOLATE. 

The glowing cheek will fade and pale ; 
The emerald earth appear a vale 
Of tears and darksome hours ! 

Lips that never a sad word own 
Will mourn in plaintive monotone 

O'er ties the Fates dissever; 
And airy castles, towering high, 
Will be demolished with a sigh, 

And vanish, aye, forever. 

But oh, that beauty of the soul 
That permeates with sweet control 

Our every thought and vision. 
Begets no spirit of unrest — 
Is never desolate, oppressed, 

But roams in fields elysian ! 

It calmly meets misfortune's hours, 

And sees 'mid darkness, light and flowers 

And sunshine on its way. 
It turns within, when all is dark. 
Where scintillates the kindling spark 

Of hope and brighter day. 



NEVER DESOLATE. 121 

And finds sweet comfort, all unknown 
To those who pine and sigh alone 

Beneath the shade of night. 
It guides us in the path sublime, 
Where costly gems from Thought's deep mine 

Illumine with their light ; 

Directs us to the pathless wood ; 
Invokes the charm of solitude, 

And bears aloft the mind 
On bright Imagination's wings, 
And over each a radiance flings, 

By limit unconfined. 

It leads us on through grots and bowers, 
All redolent of perfumed flowers, 

And vocal with the strain 
Of music from the morning lark, 
Or nightingale, when shadows dark 

Envelope earth again. 

From nature up to nature's God," 
Despite Affliction's scathing rod, 



122 NEVER DESOLATE. 

It gently leads the way ; 
It soothes, and wooes, and charms. 
And frees the soul from dread alarms 

That sadden and dismay. 

It gilds the Future with its light ; 
Illumes the Past with mem'ries bright, 

And points us to the skies. 
Where Love Supreme, with kindling ray, 
Revivifies unending day, 

And Beauty never dies ! 




TO MY WIFE. 

Twelve years ago, 
With hearts aglow. 

And solemn promise high, 

We wove the silken tie 

That bound each soul 
With sweet control, 

To walk in Hymen's way 

In unison for aye ! 

And now, to-day. 
Love's kindly ray. 
With softly beaming light, 
Still glow3 and shines as bright 
As when we vowed 
Amid the crowd, 
To tread life's path together, 
In fair or stormy weather. 



124 TO MY WIFE. 

Some sad'ning fears, 
And briny tears, 

Have dimmed the passing hours ; 

The cloud that darkly lowers 
Alike on all, 
With gloomy pall, 

Its drops of grief hath shed 

Upon our sleeping dead ! 

The care and ill, 

That sadly fill 
So much of human life 
With pain and restless strife. 

Have left their trace 

Upon each face. 
And shadows gather now 
About each eye and brow ; 

And yet the joy 
(With its alloy) — 
The blessings kindly given 
To draw us nearer heaven — 
In plenteous showers 
Have crowned the hours. 



TO MY WIFE. 125 

Subduing every grief, 
And bringing sweet relief. 

We 're only three, 

With you and me — 
The boy that still survives 
To bless our earthly lives ; 

The other — well, 

He went to dwell 
With God in early life, 
XTnstained by human strife ! 

Then, on this day 

That marks our way 
Through life's uncertain maze, 
With gratitude and praise 

We '11 look above 

All earthly love. 
To Him who guides and saves 
Our barque ainid the waves 



That surge and beat 
Around our feet 



126 TO MY WIFE, 

Upon life's treach'rous tide, 
And to the baven wide 
Of endless light 
Directs our sight, 
When Death, with chilling gloom, 
Shall wrap us in the tomb ! 




LADY, I COME. 

LADY, I come ! an airy sprite. 
To whisper in thine ear 
A word of hope, a word of love, — 
And oh, a word of fear. 

Lady, thy heart is young and warm ; 

Thy voice is wild and free ; 
Thy mild blue eye is beaming soft, 

And Life goes cheerily. 

Lady, thou lovest ! A master hand 

Hath woven round thy soul 
A spell which naught may overthrow. 

Nor thou thyself control. 

Lady, is he thou lovest true ? 

Lives there within his breast 
A flame which glows like that in thine ? 

And does he guard the guest ? 



128 



LADY, I COMB. 



Lady, I know not if he 's false ; 

I know not if he 's true ; 
I know not if he loves thee well, 

Or would thy heart undo. 

Lady, I go ; my task is done. 

I 've whispered low to thee 
A word of hope, of love, of fear ; 

Choose thou among the three. 




THE NYCTANTHES. 

THE stillness of the twilight hour comes on ; 
The din of labor and of strife is past ; 
The song of birds is hushed — in sylvan bowers 
They sweetly rest, while night's dark shadows 
last. 



The perfumed flowers, in many a garden fair, 
Have closed their petals with the sun's decline; 

Not so the sad Nyctanthes, which, at eve. 
Expands and blooms amid the pale moonshine. 



Unfolding, modestly, its charms, which shrank 
From daylight's gleam and noontide's burning 
ray, 

It sadly blooms in sympathy with those 
Who nightly mourn the friends now passed away. 



13(» THE NYCTANTHE8. 

While Flora's gems yield incense to the morn ; 

When dew-drops sparkle in the sunlight's glare, 
The sorrowful Nyctanthes, weeping, sheds 

Its gentle fragrance on the midnight air. 

Like hearts that have some secret anguish known, 
And wept unseen beneath the shades of night, — 

So this lone flower, at the dim, vesper time. 
Unfolds its sadness with the waning light. 




BOYHOOD YEARS. 

THE voice of other years — of boyhood years — 
How oft its cadence lingers in my ear, 
And stirs the fount of Memory by its. 
Music, soft and sad. Scenes long, long agone, 
And forms, to dear remembrance sacred, rise 
And greet me with their holy memories. 
The school - house, with its quaint old desks and 

doors ; 
The master, with his low'ring brow of gloom, 
And pitiless gray eye that gazed on one 
Reprovingly and stern ; the young and gay 
Companions there I met, now scattered far 
And wide — some happy, blest, and good, and some 
Bewrecked within the wave of dark despair ; 
And many, cold and silent in the grave ; — 
All, all bestrew sad Memory's mystic fane 
In dim and dark and sorrowful array I 
Ah, Time, how changeful are thy ways ! A few 



132 BOYHOOD YEARS. 

Brief years may sever kindred hearts, and breal?: 
In twain the cherished bands of hope and love ! 
And yet, there are a few green spots to glad 
And cheer us in Life's dreary way : a few 
Warm hearts that fondly linger near us still. 
Whose love yet binds us by the tend'rest ties. 
To earth and earthly scenes. To these, to these 
Oh, let me ever firmly cling till Life's 
Brief hour is fled, and Death, with all its gloom, 
Shall bid me breathe a long and sad farewell 
To all I love. Then may I calmly lay 
Me down to sleep that dreamless sleep 
Which knows no waking but the trump of God. 




e)/(s 



IOWA. 

READ BEFORE THE ALTJMNI OF IOWA STATE UNIVERSITY, JUNE 27, 186T. 

IOWA! Iowa! "this is the place,'/ 
Said a chieftain bold of the red man's race, 
As with darting canoe and pliant oar 
He touched the Mississippi's western shore. 
'T was at day's decline, and the autumn sun — 
His pathway diurnal in splendor run — 
Sank with hazy beam in the golden West, 
'Neath a crimson halo of clouds to rest. 
How wild was the scene as the wigwam fire, 
Fanned by the breeze, blazed higher and higher. 
And the simple savages gathered round, 
Silently seating themselves on the ground. 
The trees of Rock Island gleamed in the light. 
Evening was mingling its shadows with Night, 
The whippowil's notes with a plaintive sound 
Were heard in the primal forest around ; 



134 IOWA, 

The howl of the wolf in his distant lair 
With lonely vibrations fell on the air, 
While the Indians smoked their pipes in peace, 
And sought in deep slumber a brief release 
From the toils and cares, and the daily strife 
That mar both savage and civilized life. 
Fair Luna looked down with silvery sheen ; 
Stars flashed their radiance upon the wild scene, 
While lofty old oaks like patriarchs stood, 
Casting their shadows upon the dim flood 
That silently rolled in grandeur below. 
To mingle with Ocean its restless flow. 

* * ^ 

How changed the picture ! Years have fled, 
In time's unfailing, ceaseless tread ; 
And now, where late the Indian stood 
In dim, benighted solitude. 
Beside the smould'ring village fires, 
To mark the graves where lie his sires. 
Or bend above some emerald mound 
Where rest the loved in sleep profound, 
" The course of empire takes its Wciy," 
With ruthless steps that none may stay; 
And here, beneath his native skies. 



IOWA, 135 

With ardent zeal and enterprise, 
Erewhile came an adventurous band, 
Who left their home and fatherland 
To rear their altars on a shore 
Where white man never trod before; 
Where stalwart Indians idly roved, 
Or through their native forests moved 
In savage grandeur and wild pride; 
Or in their councils, side by side, 
Framed their rude laws at quiet ease. 
And smoked the forked pipe of peace. 
But now, where erst their fires blazed. 
And where the deer and bison grazed, 
Bings clear the hunter's lusty shout ; 
The settler's axe the wood throughout; 
The anvil's and the trowel's chime; 
As in the onward march sublime 
They clear the desert and the soil. 
And cause the wilderness to smile. 
Proud palaces and stately halls. 
Firm masonry and towering wails, 
Bise o'er each hill and grassy dale 
Where late was heard the panther's wail, 
And -railway courses trace each plain 



136 IOWA. 

Toward Pacific's briny main. 

The hand of Labor strikes its blows, 

And deserts " blossom as the rose ! " 

The plowshare turns the virgin sod 

Till now by human feet untrod, 

And prairies, decked with bud and bloom 

And springing verdure, now make room 

For fields all flecked with waving grain 

That drinks the Summer's genial rain, 

And rustles in the passing breeze 

Like leaves that drop from autumn trees ; 

And deep beneath the teeming soil 

The dusky miner's delving toil 

Evokes the rich, metallic ore, 

And brings to light the hidden store 

Of coal and stone, that wait the hand 

Of Labor to enrich our land. 

Where erst the Indian village stood 

Amidst primeval solitude, 

Where Mississippi's waters glide, 

Or rolls Missouri's turbid tide ; 

Where spreads the prairie's wide domain. 

On sunny slope, or sea -like plain. 

Arise the thrifty cottage home. 



IOWA. 137 

The Church's spire and Learning's dome; 

The Capitol, where laws are made ; 

The Court of Justice, mart of trade ; 

The city's restless, thronging street; 

The Orphan's Home ; the Blind's retreat ; 

The sad Asylum ; and, as well. 

The place where thieves and robbers dwell. 

Nor these alone. Where is the State 
Of our years, and growth, and weight. 
That boasts of nobler public men 
Who wield the sword or mightier pen, 
When some foul wrong rebuke demands. 
And gets it, from unsparing hands ? 
Or who, with questions of the hour. 
Deal with more vital force and power ? 
A Harlan and a faithful Grimes 
Honor the Senate of our times ; 
While AViLSON and his learned compeers 
Have proved the House's wisest seers ; 
And rulers to our country true, 
Were Stone and Kirk wood, in the hour 

When Treason's cloud of blackest hue 
10 



138 IOWA, 

Did o'er the nation wildly lower ; 
While in our legislative halls 
Were men whom danger ne'er appalls, — 
Who, 'mid the storm, unswerving still, 
Declared the people's sov'reign will. 
And made a record proud and high, 
That ne'er on earth shall fade nor die ! 
We yield in reverence for the law 
To none ; from purest fountains draw 
Those principles that guide the Court 
Established as the last resort 
For all whom Right and Wrong divide 
The high and low on every side. 
To this tribunal, great and learned. 
Whose judges faithfully have earned 
The proud distinction they enjoy, 
Which passing years can not destroy, — 
We point with lofty, honored pride, 
And trust its wisdom long shall guide 
The student, lawyer, and the sage, 
Who read upon its printed page 
The record of its wise decrees, — 
Not written to amuse or please 
The dreamer, but to clearly trace 



IOWA, 139 

Those rules and principles that place 
Our fabric on the solid base 
Of Justice, Truth, and sovereign Right, 
Instead of Kingly Power and Might. 

We laud the Pulpit of our State 
For all its wealth of labor great; 
In costly Fane with fretted aisle, 
Or in the lowlier, humbler pile ; — 
That with unfailing voice and heart 
It doth the Way, the Truth impart ; 
Denounces with unsparing hand 
The sins that blight our goodly land, 
And wooes us with soft, winning word, 
To shun the guilt we have incurred. 
And seek the better, holier way 
That leadeth to unfading day. 

We thank the almoner of good 
For those rich stores of mental food 
Benignly cast with liberal hand 
O'er every portion of our land. 
The School- house, with its open door, 
Invites alike the rich and poor 



140 IOWA. 

To freely enter, and enjoy 
Its feast of knowledge, and employ 
The hours in garn'ring up secure 
Those treasures which for aye endure ; 
While schools of higher grade prepare 
The student for the College, where 
Fountains of exhaustless flow 
Well up their blessings, to bestow 
On all who thirsty spirits bring 
To drink from the Pierian spring. 

When dark Rebellion reared its head, 
And armed hosts by traitors led 
Laid hold the fabric Washington 
Presided o'er and breathed upon, — 
In those dark moments when the light 
Of Liberty was feebly bright, 
Our soldiers caught the first alarms 
And sprang with eagerness to arms. 
And left on many a bloody field — 
Where Treason was compelled to yield 
To war's red tide in fury rolled — 
The evidence of prowess bold : — 
Of quenchless love of liberty, 
And hatred of the tyranny 



IOWA, 141 

That bound in chains a myriad throng 
Of human beings, old and young, 
With souls immortal and divine, 
And form and face like yours and mine. 
We mourn the brave, heroic dead, 
To battle and to victory led ; 
We crown the living with the bays 
And laurel wreath, and banners raise 
In triumph, while our joy -bells' chime 
Breaks forth in psean grand, sublirde ! 
But ah ! can this atone for all 
Who in the wholesale butchery fall ? 
For all the mourning, widowed throng. 
That to the soldier's heart belong ? 
Who wait his coming morn and even, 
And for his safety breathe to heaven 
The yearning sigh and heart -felt prayer, 
Too often mingled with despair? 
O War, thou great iniquity, — 
Thou relic of antiquity. 
Barbaric! fiendish! When shall dawn 
The day that marks thy mission done — 
And Peace, with universal sway, 
O'erspread the world with softest ray, 



142 IOWA, 

And earth's inhabitants, where'er they move, 
Be guided by the milder law of Love? 

We bless the Giver of all good. 
That scenes of slaughter and of blood 
No longer stain the land we love — 
Our native home — where'er we rove, 
The spot to which we longing turn — 
For which our best affections yearn,— 
Within whose breast, when life is past, 
We hope to slumber at the last ! 
Progress, — that mighty, magic name, 
As with a pen of fiery flame — 
Is traced upon our country's scroll; 
And o'er the land its echoes roll. 
From boreal climes to southern pole! 
God save our country! May she long, 
The stateliest amid the throng 
Of- nations, spread her genial sway. 
Increasing with each passing day. 
And scatter priceless blessings o'er 
Th' oppressed from every foreign shore! 
Proud may her starry banner wave 
Above the free and truly brave; 



IOWA. 143 

And still, through every coming time 
Present the spectacle sublime, 
Of sovereign People, in their might, 
Proclaiming Liberty and Rights 
To all who claim a freeman's dower 
Beneath the scepter of her power! 
'Long may our star of hope beam bright; 
Long may pure " Freedom's holy light " 
In aureate splendor shine upon 
The land we owe to Washington. 
And patriot sires, whose memory warm 
Surrounds us with a holy charm; 
To martyred Lincoln's precious blood, 
That pleaded silently with God 
For vengeance on the dastard hand 
Uplifted to destroy our land ; 
To Grant, who Treason's tide withstood — 
Proud victory from disaster wooed. 
And thrilled us in the darkest hour 
With deeds of superhuman power! 
To all the heroes, bold and true, 
That rebel missiles madly slew ; 
As well as those who still remain. 
The plaudits of the world to gain. 



144 IOWA. 

Among the band of sister States 

That bent their energies the weights 

And throbs, and throes of civil war 

To meet, and with high courage bear 

Stood Iowa. Her boys in blue, 

(God bless them, and her women too); 

With fortitude and faith sublime 

Without a parallel in time. 

Beat back the foe, and victory wrenched 

From traitors who had madly drenched 

The land in red, fraternal blood. 

That cried all solemnly to God 

For peace ! While Woman's ready hand 

With tenderness met each demand 

From suff'ring heroes, when the light 

Of life was fading, and the night 

Of death with gathering gloom 

Prepared them for a common tomb ! 

One moment pause, and muse beside 
The hecatomb of slain ; 
Where Iowa's brave, manly sons 
In battle's din were lain. 



IOWA. 145 

In silent awe gaze on the ground 

Yet stained with human blood 

Which mingles with each bud and flower 

That springs above the sod ! 

Oh, let the solemn dirge be sung 

With measured accent slow ; 

The requiem wail its saddest notes 

In mournful numbers low. 

Twine ye the cypress o'er the graves 

Where Southern zephyrs sweep ; 

And starry night and dewy eve 

Eternal vigils keep ! 

With reverent hand lay deep the stone, 
And rear the column high, 
Emblazoned with each glorious name 
Whose memory ne'er shall die! 
And on the tablet of each heart. 
In characters of light. 
Stamp every martyr's record pure, 
And keep, oh keep it bright! 



14r) 10 WA, 

But War's Avild horrors fright no more ; 
The carnage and the strife are o'er ; 
The song of Peace, on vvhisp'ring gale, 
Is softly borne o'er hill and vale ; 
The soldier lays his trophies down, 
And for the perils and renown 
Of battle-fields, seeks friends and home. 
Without the wish to longer roam ; 
For sword and gun, the axe and plow 
Become, instead, his weapons now; 
And armed with these, he wages far 
Mightier battle in peace than war. 
No longer with relentless hand 
Seeks he to devastate the land ; 
But thrift and order, beauty, law — 
Pure fountains from whence all may draw 
Spring up whene'r he strikes a blow 
To lay some grand old forest low ; 
Or sets a tree, or plants a flower ; 
Constructs a home, or rears a tower ; 
Or mingles in the busy tide 
Of life and toil on every side. 
With pride we cast our eyes abroad 
Upon our chosen, fair abode ; 



10 WA. 147 

A nobler heritage than brings 

Corrupted wealth and power to kings 

Who sit upon uneasy thrones, 

Unheeding of the cries and groans 

Of Poverty, and Want, and Woe, 

That fill the air where'er they go ; — 

A land where all are sovereigns, who — 

With patriotic impulse true — 

Proclaim that Liberty and Law 

Are the sure talismans to draw- 

From the deep well-springs of the soul 

Those charities that e'er control 

The heart which seeks its country's fame, 

And loves her pure, unsullied name. 

And here, to-day, within this hall 
Where duty, pride, and pleasure call 
The great and honored of our State, 
At Learning's hallowed shrine to wait. 
And magnify the blessings grand 
That permeate and bless our land ; 
By all the mem'ries of the Past, 
Sometimes by gath'ring clouds o'ercast. 
Then gleaming like the golden ray 



148 IOWA, 

That vivifies resplendent clay ; 
By all the gloomy doubts and fears 
That hovered round despondent years ; 
By all the marvelous success 
That blossomed in the wilderness ; 
By War's red stain, by Vict'ry's song, 
On peaceful zephyrs swept along ; 
By all the Future's glorious beam, 
That kindles like some fairy dream, 
To nerve, to stimulate, and thrill 
The patriotic heart at will ; 
By all indulgent skies have given 
To draw us nearer yonder heaven — 
We swear to keep the record pure 
While rolling cycles shall endure ; 
With loftier hope and nobler zeal 
To seek our country's common weal, 
And write her proud, untarnished name, 
High on the glittering arch of fame, 
To watch and guard with jealous care 
The precious jewel, rich and rare. 
And hand it down from sire to son, 
A priceless legacy, that none 
May dare pollute in thought or deed, 



IOWA, 149 

Unworthy of a freeman's creed ; 
And as along the surging tide 
Of rolling years, on every side 
We meet and mingle in the strife 
That fills the avenues of life, 
With conscious step and voices free, 
Our proud, exultant song shall ' be — 

Fair Iowa, gem of the far-reaching West, 

To exile and wand'rer a haven of Vest ; 

To seekers of Fortune and Fame by the way, 

A star that illumines with kindling ray ; 

To student and statesman a coveted prize, 

A home for the thoughtful, the prudent, and wise; 

Where the downtrodden poor, and the children of 

Toil 
Find a guerdon secure in the rich, teeming soil ! 

Thy hills and thy valleys, so fair to the eye ; 
Thy woods, and thy streams, and thy blue arching 

sky; 
Thy sunlight and Summer; thy rich autumn trees; 
Whose leaves murmur music on each passing breeze; 



150 



IOWA. 



Thy broad, rolling rivers, that eagerly press 
Thy green, swelling prairies with giant caress ; 
We hail thee, the home of the brave and the true, 
A picture more lovely than painter e'er drew ! 

May this beautiful land — by heaven's decree, 
Smiling far away from the dim, surging sea — 
Be ever the dwelling this heart shall desire ; 
The shrine of devotion where home's altar -fire 
Shall scintillate softly in life's quiet even, 
Like glim'ring stars in the far distant heaven ; 
The land of all others beneath whose green sod 
This body would rest, when the soul seeks its God ! 




THE TABLEAU. 

AYE Mary, holy mother, 
List the maiden devotee, 
While she tells the pater noster 
On her lowly, bended knee. 

See those orbs uplift and radiant, 
Beaming from her forehead fair, 

While each decade 'neath those fingers 
Marks the solemn vesper prayer. 



See those locks of softest auburn 
O'er her neck and bosom stray. 

And, as if by zephyrs lifted, 
O'er the polished shoulders play. 



152 THE TABLEAU. 

Mark the attitude so humble, 
Mark the silent, earnest gaze ; 

Mark the dreamy smile so holy. 
That upon her features plays ! 

Falls the curtain : all is over ; 

Fades the vision dimly bright ; 
Pensive nun, farewell forever ! 

Thou hast vanished from our sight. 




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